Chasing An Empty Dream
by jmp22895
Summary: Germany realizes he has feelings for Italy...just in time to learn that Italy is still in love with someone else. Just who the hell is this Holy Roman Empire guy anyway? Germany's determined to learn more about the kid who stole Italy's heart...
1. BandAids

Germany strode up to Italy's front door, taking the scenery in as he stared around in awe. It wasn't often he was the one visiting Italy, since Italy was generally the one breaking into his house on a regular basis, so it never ceased to amaze him how beautiful the country was. He stared around at the beautiful landscape, and the cloudless sky, and even the small tomato garden in the corner of Italy's yard marked, "_Proprietá di Romano. Toccarlo e morire."_ The only thing out of place was his old BMW parked nearby. Germany sighed slightly as he tucked the bulky white box he was carrying under his arm. He used his other hand to knock softly on the door, pausing to listen for any sign of movement from the other side.

After a moment, the door swung open. "¡Buenas tardes, Alemania!" Spain greeted him, smiling brightly, the way he always did. His eyes fell on the box Germany was carrying and his smile got wider. "Oh! You brought the Medical Kit! Great! I was beginning to run out of Band-Aids!" He took the box and let Germany inside. "¡Muchas gracias!

Germany nodded and walked past him. "Ja, I figured since the Italy Brothers weren't feeling well that I'd—" he froze, blinking in confusion. Then he turned toward Spain. "Wait, I thought you said they just had fevers."

Spain nodded. "Yeah," he answered. "That's usually what happens in a recession."

"…so why did you use Band-Aids…?"

Spain opened his mouth to reply, then paused. Germany could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he struggled to contemplate the question. "…I…um…huh…" Finally he shrugged. "I'll get back to you on that."

Germany couldn't help but sigh in annoyance. "Right…while I'm asking questions I probably don't want answered, why are you wearing that?"

Spain looked down at the apron he was wearing, such a vibrant color of pink it was almost fluorescing. "Oh, this is Belgium's!" He smiled at Germany. Then he remembered that wasn't the question. "Oh, I was wearing this because it was making Romano laugh."

Germany stared blankly at him for a few seconds. Out of all the questions that went through his mind, the one he finally asked was, "He can laugh…?"

Spain chuckled sadly. "Yeah, he was so out-of-it earlier, he just thought it was hilarious…" he trailed off, his face falling ever so slightly. Then he looked back up, the usual cheery smile plastered back on his face. "But Romano is doing much better now! And so is Italy! Although he might still think I'm someone named 'Rosa'…"

Germany rolled his eyes slightly.

Spain nodded, laughing slightly. "Yeah, Veneziano was a little harder hit than Romano, but since Romano is almost back to normal I'm going drinking with France and Prussia later."

"…because that is definitely the responsible thing to do," Germany murmured under his breath.

"Anyway, they're in their room, so why don't we check on them?" He walked down a hallway and turned up a flight of stairs, holding up the Medical Kit Germany had brought him. "And maybe you could explain what all this stuff is!" He laughed a bit, as if he'd just told a hilarious joke.

Germany sighed and followed after the ever-smiling Spaniard. Sometimes he could only guess how people like Spain could stay so cheery all the time. _He_ could never pull something like that off. He'd find a way to get stressed about…well, being happy. Only people like Spain, or Prussia, or America, could be so happy all the time. And Italy of course.

Of course, Italy hadn't been his usual cheery self for the past few days. No "ve"ing, no hugging, no laughing, not even eating pasta. It was nothing serious of course; oftentimes, a Nation would get flulike symptoms when their economy hit a rough patch for a few days. But even so, Germany couldn't stand it when his friend was feeling sick. It almost made him want to hold Italy, find a way to make him feel better, make him go back to smiling.

All of which was a little strange, seeing as Germany wasn't really a 'huggy' person, but weird thoughts like that always seemed to pop into his head when he was around Italy…

"Ah, here we are!" Spain announced, pushing open the door to their bedroom. "I put them in the same bed so I didn't have to run back and forth between them. Clever, no?"

"Uh, sure," Germany answered, walking in and looking over at the two Italians lying in the bed. He was about to ask which one was which, since it was a little hard to see in the semidarkness, when the one on the right sat up.

"Aw man, what's the potato bastard doing here?" Romano complained loudly. Germany had to admit, he did look pretty out-of-it. His brown eyes looked slightly dazed, and his face was flushed slightly, as if he'd just run a mile. And there was a Band-Aid stuck to the side of his face. "I thought you were gonna get me a tomato! _He's_ not a tomato!" At that last sentence, he pointed an accusing finger at Germany, as if he'd been attempting to impersonate a tomato to annoy him.

Spain smiled and walked over, sitting down next to him and giving him a hug. "But your face is already red, so you look just like a tomato!" He said.

Romano scowled slightly, but instead of the usual violence, he just wearily laid his head on Spain's shoulder. "Just get me a tomato next time, bastardo…" he murmured. "And take off the damn apron, 'Rosa'."

Germany couldn't help but grimace slightly at the exchange, watching as Spain continued holding Romano without him muttering a single threat. If Romano was that bad off… He glanced over to the left side of the bed, which hadn't stirred since he'd walked in.

He tentatively crept over. "Italy?" He whispered softly. He bent down next to him, pulling the covers away slightly.

Italy's face was flushed red. His forehead was covered in sweat, with the crooked Band-Aid Spain had put there peeling off. Germany winced slightly and bent down. "Italy?" He whispered again, pressing his hand against his friend's forehead. "Italia, wake up."

Italy's eyes opened halfway. "I-I'm sorry, mister Austria," he stammered weakly. "I-I'll go clean it up in a moment." He started struggling to sit up. "Please don't punish me!" He wailed.

Germany grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back onto the bed. "Italy calm down," he said softly. "Austria isn't here. There's nothing you need to clean."

Italy blinked groggily a few times, then looked up at Germany. "…oh…" he mumbled. He closed his eyes sleepily.

Germany sighed slightly and grabbed the blankets, pulling them back over Italy. "Just rest, Italy," he said softly. "You'll feel better by tomorrow." As he drew his hand away, Italy grabbed his wrist. Germany froze. "I…Italy…?" He asked. He tugged slightly on Italy's hand. "Italy, what are you doing?"

"Don't go…" Italy murmured, his eyes shining with tears.

"But I-I wasn't…going to…" Germany felt any protest dying on his tongue as their eyes met. _Gott, Italy really has the most beautiful eyes… _Germany flinched and shook his head, feeling his face heating up. He really needed to stop thinking like that. Italy was his closest friend. He shouldn't think things like that about his friend. It was idiotic…it was inappropriate…it was…

Italy mumbled something in Italian and snuggled his face against Germany's arm, which he was still holding, and smiled slightly.

Germany stared at him. He swallowed uncomfortably and sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling his face heating up more. _Verdammt, _he thought bitterly, _why the hell do I keep blushing…? _He scratched the back of his neck and tried to look at anything but Italy.

Glancing up, he noticed Romano sending him a death-glare. Spain was still sitting next to him, watching him with a curious look. He gave Germany an encouraging smile. Germany gave a weak smile that he knew looked more like a grimace, and glanced away.

The four of them sat like that for a while. At one point, Germany noticed Italy watching him, a weird look in his eyes. Germany quickly glanced in the opposite direction. Then Italy sat up, still looking at him. Germany sighed and grabbed Italy's shoulder again. "Italy, what are you doing? You need to sleep—"

Italy wrapped his arms tightly around Germany's waist. Germany yelped slightly and stared down at the Italian clinging to him. "Italy, what on earth are you doing?"

"Ti amo…" Italy whispered against Germany's neck.

Germany stiffened. "What the…?" He stared down at Italy, feeling his face practically radiating with heat. "I-Italy?" He racked his brain for the little Italian he knew. Ti amo…ti amo…that…that meant… I…love you…? No, that wasn't…it couldn't…no, Italy had to be hallucinating. Yes. That was the only explanation. He was hallucinating.

Germany gently pried Italy off of him. "Italy calm down," he said calmly. Italy looked up at him. "You're sick. You need to rest. You're tired. Just lay back down and—"

Italy grabbed Germany's shirt and pressed his lips against Germany's.

Germany froze. He could feel everything in his brain short circuiting. Every ounce of reason vanished. Every thought in his mind was smothered out. All he could feel was Italy's lips pressed against his own. He felt himself relaxing against his will. His arms wind around Italy's waist. He pressed his lips harder against Italy's and his eyes shut. And a quick thought passed through his head: _Ich liebe dich auch; I love you too._

Italy pulled back slightly, leaving both of them gasping. In the back of his mind, Germany vaguely registered the sound of Romano's shocked cursing as Spain attempted to hold him back, but Germany didn't care. He felt his heart fluttering weightlessly in his chest. He stared at Italy, wide-eyed.

Italy smiled at him and hugged him again. His face was flushed, but he looked barely conscious. Germany hugged him back, feeling lightheaded. He wasn't dreaming. This was really happening. He felt the corners of his mouth pulling upward as he held Italy against his chest. This was real.

Italy smiled up at him, snuggling tightly against his chest. And after a moment, he murmured:

"I will always love you…Holy Roman Empire…"

Then he passed out.

Leaving Germany sitting on his bed, frozen in place.

* * *

><p><em>Well, here's my first relatively serious Hetalia Fic. Hope you all like it.<em>

_The sign in the tomato patch said: "Property of Romano. Touch it and die."_

_It will take a little while before I figure out the rating. Will be subject to change._


	2. What's in a Name?

The room was silent, except for Italy's soft snores against Germany's shoulder. Germany sat there, frozen in place. _W…What…?_ He thought slowly looked down toward the Italian sleeping against his chest. After a few seconds, he slowly grabbed Italy and set him back on the bed. His entire body felt numb.

He slowly stood up. He glanced up at Spain and Romano staring at him in mute horror. For once, neither of them had anything to say. For a second, it looked like Spain was going to say something, but he just ended up gaping at him, his mouth hanging open like a fish.

Germany turned away. "Keep the Medical Kit," he mumbled. He didn't trust himself to say anything else. Then he turned and walked out the door.

He walked through the house and out the front door. The sun was still shining brightly in the cloudless sky, illuminating the beautiful countryside. As if none of that had happened.

Germany slowly walked over to his car and slipped behind the wheel, the numbness starting to wear off. Holy Roman Empire. Italy had called him Holy Roman Empire. Who the hell was Holy Roman Empire? Germany screwed his eyes shut, trying to think. Holy Roman Empire…it was a nation hundreds of years ago…it was formally dissolved in 1806…so the person was dead…

He remembered hearing once how Italy had lived there. Yes, Italy had lived with that person when they were children. Germany hadn't given it a second thought…hadn't once wondered if they'd been friends before the kid died…hadn't once wondered why Italy had been so quiet the rest of that day… Of course, it'd been because Italy was in love with the boy…

He opened his eyes. He'd been gripping the wheel so tightly, his knuckles had turned white. He forced himself to relax. He slowly pulled his car out and drove home.

Germany didn't remember most of the ride home. All he remembered was really didn't understand the term "Broken Heart". That definitely wasn't what he was feeling. Not a breaking sensation, more like being torn in half. Like every breath was a dagger to the chest.

And then suddenly he was parked in front of his house.

He sat in the car for a few more minutes, for some reason finding himself unable to stand. He gritted his teeth and climbed out of his car, and slowly made his way to his front door.

As he opened the door, he heard voices from the next room over. One loud and obnoxious, and the other speaking with a thick French accent, just as obnoxious.

"So anyway, it seemed she 'ad been moaning so loudly ze apartments next door 'ad called ze police!"

Prussia and France strode through the doorway, laughing hysterically, not even noticing Germany standing forlorn in the entrance.

"Man, that's awesome!" Prussia shouted loudly, still laughing. Then he glanced up and noticed his younger brother. He grinned at him. "Hey West! Man, you'll never believe this insane story! France got arrested yesterday and…" Prussia trailed off, noticing the look on Germany's face. "…West?"

"I-I'm going to bed," Germany whispered, finding he didn't have the energy to speak any louder. "Gute nacht."

"Uh…gute nacht…" Prussia replied slowly. He watched as Germany trudged past and out of sight. He frowned slightly. He'd known Germany for as long as he could remember. They were brothers. He knew practically everything about him, and could practically read his mind, just from the look on his face.

And yet, just a few seconds ago there was a look Prussia had never seen before…

Prussia glanced over at France, who was watching him. He glanced back toward where his brother had disappeared. Then he grinned at France. "Hey France, the awesome me has decided to bail on the drinking tonight."

France raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "You 'ave?" He asked slowly.

"Ja, I, uh, had some…awesomeness I need to take care of," he replied.

"Oui, of course," France answered skeptically. "Well, in zat case, Spain and I will just 'ave to find some way to get by without you…"

"Right…" Prussia mumbled, grimacing, mentally strangling himself. "You two…have fun…"

"Oh, we will," France answered with a smirk. He turned and walked out. He paused at the door. "…um, good luck with your…'awesomeness'…" He said.

"Ja…" Prussia turned as soon as France was out of sight and walked after his brother.

He slipped into Germany's room to find him lying face down on the bed. "Hey, West, the awesome me has decided to grace you with my presence," he said, walking over with a grin. Germany didn't move. Prussia poked him a few times. "West? You ok? You dead?"

"Halt den Mund," Germany mumbled into the pillow.

Prussia scowled at him, prodding him harder. "Hey, your awesome brother just skipped out on an awesome night of drinking just to check up on you. The least you could do is not act like a complete and total—"

"Bruder, please shut up," Germany repeated, glancing up. His hair was disheveled and his eyes wet.

Prussia grimaced. "Jeez, West, you look like crap," he said loudly.

Germany flinched and buried his face back into his pillow. Prussia patted his back. "Come on, West…" he mumbled, not sure what to say. "Cheer up…" he glanced around, then bent down, reached under the bed, and pulled out a stick. "Here, look West, it's Herr Stick," he said, forcing himself not to laugh. When Germany ignored him again, Prussia scowled. "Come on, smile, you arschloch." He poked the side of Germany's face with Herr Stick.

Germany took a deep breath and rolled so his back was toward his brother. "Go away."

Prussia sighed. "Ok, I'm going to bed then." He dropped Herr Stick onto Germany's pillow. "Good night, West. Everything will be alright by tomorrow." He turned and walked out.

Germany lay on the bed, unmoving. Because everything wouldn't be alright…

…

When Germany woke up, the room was spinning. He sat up, clenching his teeth against the splitting headache. _What happened? _He thought dizzily. He took a deep breath, then flinched. _Why does my chest hurt so—?_

"_I will always love you, Holy Roman Empire."_

Germany froze, Italy's voice echoing through his head. Then he lay back down. _Oh. Right, _he thought numbly, staring at the ceiling. He lay like that for what could've been hours. Finally, he glanced toward his alarm clock. 8:52 A.M.

Germany stared at the small red numbers. Then he leapt to his feet. He stumbled out the door, down the hallway, and into the kitchen.

"Guten morgen, West." Prussia called, waving at him from the kitchen table, a cell phone pressed against his ear. It took Germany a moment to realize that it was his cell phone.

"Bruder, what the hell are you doing?" Germany shouted angrily, trying to grab his cell phone. "Did you turn my alarm off? I was supposed to be up over three hours ago! I have things to do today! I have meetings! I have—!"

"Don't worry, West! Your awesome brother has taken care of everything." Prussia grinned at him and leaned back, putting his feet up on the table. Gilbird fluttered onto his head from nearby. "Your alarm didn't wake you up, so I turned it off. Oh, and I canceled your meetings 'cause you looked like shit."

Germany stared at him. "R…Really?" He asked, stunned. "You…you're...you're helping me…?"

Prussia held up a finger. On the other line of the phone, Germany heard someone answer. _"__Πривет__?"_

Prussia cleared his throat, and in a deep voice, said, "Hello there, Mr. Briganski. Is your refrigerator running—?"

Germany quickly swiped his phone out of Prussia's hand and hung up. Prussia rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, West, it's not like Russia is smart enough to figure out what I was saying…I mean, come on..."

Germany glared at him. Prussia sighed. "Fine, fine. Scheiße…" He stood up and grabbed a bunch of beers and a large glass pitcher, and started filling the pitcher to the brim. He noticed Germany still scowling and said, "What? It's never too early to get drunk."

Germany rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands.

Prussia sat down next to him, taking a sip out of the large pitcher. Then he asked, "So…you went to check up on Italy last night, right?" Germany didn't answer, his throat suddenly constricted. Prussia continued, not noticing Germany's hands clenching. "So, what exactly happened? Spain was too freaked out to tell me." Germany didn't answer. Prussia pursed his lips. "Seriously, did something happen? Did you and Italy have sex or something—?"

"Italy kissed me."

Prussia blinked, startled. Then he grinned, holding his hand up. "Alright, West! Awesome! High five—"

"And then he called me someone else's name."

Prussia froze. Then he quickly lowered his hand. "Oh," he mumbled. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. After a second he held out a half-empty beer. Germany grabbed it, took a large swig and put his head back in his hands.

Prussia watched him for a moment. "So, do you like Italy?" He asked.

Germany flinched and turned away. Prussia sighed and stood up. "Well, uh, that sucks." Germany glared at him. Prussia patted his arm. "I really don't know what to say."

Germany sighed. "So what do I do now?" He asked quietly. "I…I'm in love with my best friend...who obviously doesn't like me back…I-I mean, I'm not even gay…"

Prussia snickered. Germany glared at him angrily. Prussia shrugged. "Well, obviously you are if you're in love with a man…"

"Sh-Shut up," Germany stammered, blushing. "You have no idea how I'm feeling right now."

"Uh, well I'm bisexual, so I probably get how you feel…"

Germany choked on his beer. "W-When the hell did you become bisexual?" He yelped.

Prussia shrugged, taking another sip out of his pitcher. "I dunno. Birth? You know, there're a lot of different theories on how that happens. I've heard all this stuff about the genetic makeup of your brain—"

"Never mind," Germany muttered, scowling at his brother, then finding he didn't even have enough energy to feel angry. He put his head back into his hands, sighing deeply. "Verdammt," he mumbled. "I mean, just who the hell is this Holy Roman Empire guy anyway?"

There was a loud crash as Prussia's pitcher shattered on the floor. Germany jumped and looked up. Prussia stood there stiffly, all the blood drained out of his face. His hand was still held in midair.

Prussia glanced up quickly, noticing Germany staring at him. He gave a nervous laugh, clenching his fist. "Heh, I-I, uh, dropped my beer. Must be drunker than I thought. I'm gonna…go lay down so you could just go back to bed now West." He glanced down at the shattered glass. "I-I'll just clean this up and head to my room…" He turned and practically sprinted out of the room.

Germany stared at him, confused.

_The hell?_

* * *

><p><em>Well, here's chapter two. Wow, this is the first time I've ever had so many reviews on the first chapter. Thanks everyone!<em>

_Halt den Mund~ Shut up (German)_

_The Russian was "Hello?" Can't figure out how to copy and paste it..._

_And that's my first time attempting to write in a French accent. Sorry that it sucks._


	3. To The Library!

Germany sat in the kitchen for a full fifteen minutes until it was clear that Prussia wasn't coming back. He frowned and stood up. _What was that about? _He thought to himself, opening a nearby closet and pulling out a mop. He started cleaning up the mess Prussia had made, being careful not to step on any of the glass shards. Prussia had never dropped beer before, no matter how drunk he was. And when someone else so much as spilled a drop, he'd generally start swearing uncontrollably at them. (Generally he was drunk enough by that point to start accusing them of murder. Or bestiality. Not that that either of those made any sense…)

As soon as Germany finished cleaning the floor, he stowed the mop away in the closet and walked over to his brother's room (otherwise known as the basement). He grabbed the knob and realized it was locked. "Prussia," he called, "great job cleaning the kitchen." When he was met with silence, he walked back into the kitchen.

_Why did he react like that? _Germany wondered idly, sitting back down at the small table. Holy Roman Empire…had Prussia known the kid too? Why had he never heard Prussia mention him before? Had everyone known this kid except Germany?

_That's it, _he decided,_ I need to know who the hell that kid was! _He stood there for a moment, then hastily scribbled out a note for his brother, in case he ever left his room, and strode outside.

…

Germany stepped into the library and glanced around. The books were stacked high on the shelves, and there was a hushed silence throughout the building. Germany couldn't help but smile slightly. This was definitely his kind of place.

He walked around and grabbed several history textbooks. They wouldn't tell him anything about the Personified Nation, but they would at least give him an idea of where to look. Hauling them to the nearest table, he opened the largest one. Opening to the index, he scanned the page. _Let's see…Holy Roman Empire…Heiliges Römisches Reich…aha! Here it is._ He flipped a few pages and began scanning. _"Holy Roman Empire…created in the middle ages…first Emperor was Charlemagne…territories would've included current-day Northern Italy, Germany, Austria, and…"_

Germany blinked. Austria? That he didn't know. Had Austria known the guy too? And Germany's name was there too. But that wasn't too surprising. He hadn't owned that land hundreds of years ago. Not like he really remembered that far though.

He frowned and continued to read. "_The Holy Roman Empire was formally disbanded after military defeats by the French under Napoleon…" _Germany stared in disbelief at the page. _F…France? _He thought blankly. _France actually…did something…? _He scratched the back of his neck. That was surprising. He hadn't even realized France had any military victories…

He looked through the other textbooks, finding about the same. _That's odd,_ Germany thought, _it doesn't mention Prussia at all. _He sighed and leaned back. That was the problem with textbooks; sometimes there were Nations they didn't discuss because they had little to no historical significance. Oh well. At least he had a vague idea of what to do now. First, he needed to—

"E-Excuse me…Germany."

Germany almost jumped out of his chair, and then quickly turned around. Standing behind him was…um…well, he was…uh…

Germany coughed uncomfortably. "O-Oh, um, hello there…uh… Do I…know you…?"

The kid grimaced slightly. "I-I'm Canada," he replied, fixing his glasses slightly. Germany stared at him for a second. Canada…why did that name seem familiar…? The kid sighed. "I'm a Nation, like you are. Remember?" When Germany didn't respond, Canada took a deep breath. "I'm friends with your brother…? I live in North America…? I fought against you in World War II?"

"Oh…really…" Germany replied uncomfortably, trying desperately to remember. _This guy fought in WWII…?_

Canada sighed. "Pancakes."

"Oh yeah!" Germany remembered when Prussia had blogged about it. "Right, of course. Sorry Canada." He heard Canada mumble something about being used to it, when he thought of something. "Wait, what are you doing in the middle of Berlin?"

"Huh? Oh, the World Conference is on Wednesday, remember?"

Germany blinked, feeling the blood drain out of his face. _Verdammt, _he thought frantically. _I complete forgot about the Conference! Did I agree to hold it in Berlin? Mein gott, I haven't made any preparations or—_

Then he remembered Italy. And suddenly, the Conference seemed like the most unimportant thing in the world. Was that even possible? He sat there for a minute, trying frantically to piece together his feelings. Ever since he'd met Italy, he was bombarded with all kinds of feelings he hadn't ever felt before. Happiness, excitement, cheerfulness…all kinds of things someone like him would never have time for. And now, suddenly, he was head over heels in love. And he had not the slightest clue what he was doing.

"Um, Germany, are you alright...? You kind of stopped talking."

Germany jumped and wheeled around. "Scheiße," he yelped, "how long have you been here?"

Canada blinked at him, looking slightly confused for a second. Then he smiled weakly. "Uh, well I've been here since yesterday," he answered.

"Nein, I meant—" Then Germany remembered the conversation he'd just had with Canada. Had he really just forgotten that Canada was there…? "…I-I meant, why did you show up yesterday?" He corrected himself uncomfortably. "It's Monday…the Conference isn't until Wednesday."

"You're brother invited me to hang out with him yesterday," Canada replied, his smile faltering slightly. "He…he didn't show up at the bar he told me to meet him at…" he trailed off, glancing toward the wall. "…was he sick…?"

Germany stared at him for a moment. Prussia had been heading out with France and Spain to drink last night…which meant he'd forgotten about Canada…

"No, he wasn't sick, he…" Germany trailed off as Canada continued to stare at the wall, a disappointed look passing over his face. "…he…was taking care of me last night," Germany lied, finding he didn't have it in him to tell Canada that Prussia had forgotten. "I was sick last night. He must not have gotten the chance to call and tell you."

Canada smiled. "Oh, good! I was afraid he'd forgotten."

"J-Ja…" Germany mumbled in response. Then he quickly stood up. "Well, see you Wednesday, Canada."

"See you Wednesday," Canada replied brightly.

Germany began walking back to his house. _Maybe I should bring up Canada to Prussia when I get back, _he thought. Then he frowned slightly and shook his head. _No, I have other things to worry about…_

He sighed. _How did I forget about the World Conference? _He wondered unhappily, glancing up at the graying sky. _I'm not prepared, I haven't planned _anything_ out…and Italy will probably be there…_ He swallowed nervously. _Ok, I need to figure all this out by Wednesday, or I'm dead. _He sighed again. _Alright, I'll ask Prussia about that Holy Roman Empire guy first…_

It took him about fifteen minutes to walk back to his house. He tried to clear his head, plan out exactly what he was going to say to his brother. It was a lot easier to plan for people he understood, though. If he was planning to talk with someone even remotely rational, like Lithuania, or England (usually), he could plan something out. But with people like his brother, or Italy for that matter, logic and reason flew out the window. Which meant he would have to wing it.

"…gott, I hate my life…" Germany mumbled to himself, slowly opening his front door.

He walked silently inside, carefully stepping over one of his dogs sleeping on the floor, and strode over to his brother's room. Finding it unlocked, he slipped past. "Bruder," he called, "I need to talk to you." He reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around.

Prussia wasn't there. Germany sighed unhappily. He didn't go into his brother's room often, since he was usually afraid of what he'd find. It looked just about how he expected; there were old clothes on the floor, an unmade bed in the corner, what looked like a bird's nest on a dresser, and some unrecognizable objects lying on the floor. He reached down and picked one up, inspecting it closely. It could've been anything from an old painting to a paddle.

He dropped it and climbed back up the stairs. He could hear someone shouting from the kitchen, so he walked inside.

"Hey there, West!" Prussia called through the thick black smoke, then began coughing. "I put a fork in the microwave. Turns out they really explode! It was awesome!"

Germany clenched his teeth and pulled the fire extinguisher out from under the sink. "Why do you always set things on fire the moment I turn around?" He yelled angrily, spraying at the flames.

Prussia coughed again, swiping through the smoke with a stick. "Yeah, well I'm just so awesome that shit just blows up—"

"Is that Herr Stick? GIVE ME THAT!" Germany yanked the stick from Prussia's hands.

Prussia scowled at him. "For god's sake, West, it's an inanimate object," he muttered. "You could go into the woods and find hundreds of other stick."

Germany glared at him. "Well in that case, let's just set Gilbird on fire," he retorted. "There're plenty of other birds you could—" He stopped himself. "Listen, Prussia, I need to talk with you."

"Wait, did you just threaten to light my bird on fire? What the hell is your—?"

"Who was the Holy Roman Empire?"

The result was almost instantaneous. Prussia's face went blank, his eyes widening. Then he abruptly glanced away. "Oh, you're still thinking about that," he answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

And failing.

"Ja, I'm still thinking about that," Germany answered slowly, watching his brother carefully. Prussia continued staring at the floor, for once in his life silent. "So who was the Holy Roman—?"

"What makes you think I know anything?" Prussia quickly snapped.

Germany blinked, startled by the tone of his brother's voice. For the first time since Germany could remember, Prussia sounded genuinely angry. "I just thought…" He trailed off, trying to think of what to say.

"Well you must've thought wrong then."

Gilbird gave a nervous chirp and flew into the air, landing on the table. He chirped again, shifting from one foot to the other, watching Prussia closely.

Germany stared at Prussia for a long moment, starting to get angry. "Prussia, what the hell is your problem?"

Prussia continued staring at the floor. "I don't have a problem," he replied.

Germany clenched his fists. "I know you're lying to me, bruder," he growled. "You know who Holy Roman Empire was."

Prussia turned toward the door. "I'm going to bed."

"It's noon," Germany replied. "You're not going to bed."

"Shut up."

"No," Germany retorted. He grabbed the back of Prussia's shirt. "Tell me what's going on."

"I'm not talking about this."

"Yes you are."

"West, I'm serious…"

"Prussia, tell me who the Holy Roman Empire was!"

Prussia spun around and slapped Germany's hand away. "JUST DROP IT, GERMANY!" He shouted.

The two of them stood there silently, Prussia glaring and Germany just looking stunned. After what felt like an eternity, Prussia turned and strode out. Germany could hear him slam the door. He swore under his breath and sat down. _Well that was unhelpful, _he thought bitterly. He couldn't remember the last time he and Prussia had argued like that. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time Prussia had actually called him 'Germany'.

He sat there for a few more seconds. Then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He was going to get answers, with or without his brother's help…

* * *

><p><em>Well, here's chapter three. Sorry that it's so long.<em>


	4. Vienna Waits For You

It took two rings before Austria answered his phone. "Hello?"

"Guten Morgen, Österreich," Germany said, leaning back in his chair.

He heard Austria sigh in annoyance on the other line. "I hardly think you could consider it 'morning' by now," he replied.

Germany glanced at the clock. 1:03 P.M. "Oh, right, Guten Tag, then," he replied, starting to feel annoyed already.

"Yes, well, did you need something, Germany?"

Germany sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe this was a bad idea…no. He had to ask. He couldn't just talk himself out of it. "Listen. Is there any chance we could meet up in a little while? I have something I want to ask you about."

There was a long pause on the other line. Finally, Austria dryly said, "Oh, does this mean you're feeling better then? I distinctly remember your brother calling me at six in the morning to tell me that you were sick, and that we'd have to reschedule our meeting."

Germany cringed. Right, he was supposed to meet with Austria today. "Oh…um, sorry about that," he muttered. "But this is about something diff—"

"Yes, you should be sorry," Austria snapped. Germany rolled his eyes as Austria began scolding him. "People around you cannot just mold their schedules to your every whim. I happen to have scheduled something else after you canceled, so I don't think that I will be able to meet with you today. I'll see you on Wednesday—"

"Wait!" Germany interrupted, sitting up. "Wait, I really need to talk to you. Today."

He could almost picture Austria rolling his eyes on the other line. "Well, I've already made plans for today, so I don't think—"

"Oh, what the hell could you possibly be doing?" Germany muttered.

"E-Excuse me?" Austria stammered indignantly. "I happen to have plenty of other things that I do in my free time!" There was a long awkward pause. "I-I do!" Austria protested. "I happen to have many other things I do in my life."

"Really?" Germany replied. "And what exactly is it that you're doing later?"

"I…" Austria trailed off. The two of them were silent for a moment. Then Austria coughed nervously. "Y-Yes, I happen to be…um…to be going on a date."

"Oh really," Germany replied skeptically. "And who is the…um…_lucky_…girl?"

"W-Who…?" Austria stammered. "Oh, y-you want to know who… Well she's…um…I-I'm…uh…" There was another awkward pause. Finally, he stammered, "Uh, Hungary! Y-Yes, I'm…going on a…a date with Hungary…"

"Right…" Germany muttered. After a second, he said, "Well, I really need to meet with you today. It will only take a few minutes at most. Hungary can come too if she wants…"

"O-Oh…" Austria mumbled. After another long pause, he said, "Yes, well, um…i-it seems that Hungary cannot join us after all…"

"Great, so now you have free time to meet with me."

"I…" Austria was silent for a moment, before sighing in defeat, "Yes, well, I guess I'll meet you in an hour. My house is in Vienna."

Germany stood up. "I know. See you then." He hung up, and looked at his phone for a few seconds. Finally, he mumbled, "Going on a date my ass…"

As he turned to leave, he noticed Gilbird fluttering frantically in front of Prussia's door. Germany walked over. "He must've forgotten you out here, huh?" He asked. Gilbird just chirped again. If a bird could look distressed, Germany could only assume that was how Gilbird looked. He bent down and picked the bird up. "You could come with me if you want," he suggested.

Gilbird pecked his finger.

"Ow!" He yelped, dropping the bird. "What the hell was that for?" Gilbird flew up, pecked Germany's head once, then fluttered back toward the door. "I wasn't really going to set you on fire!" Germany protested. Then he remembered: He was talking to a bird. "Mein Gott, I'm going crazy…" he murmured. Then he turned and walked outside.

It took him a little under an hour to drive from Berlin to Vienna. It would've taken several hours longer normally to drive that far, but Nations always had the uncanny ability to travel quicker than a normal person. One of the good quirks about being a Nation.

Germany pulled up to Austria's house at about two. He slowly climbed out of his car and walked over to the front door. The door opened a few seconds after he knocked.

"Hello, Germany," Austria said, looking unhappy for a moment before he composed himself. "Come in."

Germany sighed and strode inside. Austria's house wasn't the most exciting looking house. There were a few paintings on the wall, wooden floors, white walls, nothing really standing out. Except, of course, the magnificent grand piano in the parlor. Or, at least, what Germany figured was the parlor. Hell, he wasn't an interior designer.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice," Germany said.

Austria took a deep breath. "Ja…sure…I had a choice…" He walked into the 'parlor' and sat down on a chair. He motioned to another chair and Germany sat down. "So what exactly is so important that you desperately needed to meet with me today?" He asked.

"Well…" Germany trailed off. What exactly was he supposed to say? "Well it's an interesting story, actually…" he paused, trying to figure out what to say, "…you see, the other day…well…"

_Ding Dong_

They both looked up, startled. Austria stood up. "I wonder who that could be." He murmured, fixing his glasses. "Strange, I wasn't expecting anyone else today…" He strode into the other room.

Germany closed his eyes. What exactly was he supposed to say? It would seem pretty out of the ordinary to suddenly start asking questions about a person that died almost two centuries ago. Should he tell Austria about Italy…? His face reddened at the though. How the hell would Austria react to that? He shook his head quickly. No, maybe he could make something up.

Germany started picking up what the people in the other room were saying. "…and, well, since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I'd just stop by for a little bit," said a women's voice. "Did I come by at a bad time? I thought you said that you weren't doing anything later today."

"Y-Yes this is a bad time," Austria stammered. "I happen to have a guest over so if you could please—w-wait don't—"

Hungary strode into the room. She smiled at Germany. "Oh, hello, Germany!" She said brightly. "I thought you and Austria were meeting earlier. I'm sorry. I can leave if you want."

Germany stared at her for a second, startled. Then Austria stumbled in after her, stammering, "Y-Yes, we are very busy, so if you could please—"

"Actually, I don't mind if you stay for a while," Germany interrupted, smiling smugly toward Austria, who glared back at him and sat down on the piano bench. "It's not that big of a deal. Anyway, this isn't really a meeting, more of a personal visit. I don't mind."

"Oh, good!" She sat down on another chair. "So how are you today?"

"Oh, I'm doing rather well today," he answered, feeling Austria's eyes boring angrily into the back of his head. "So, I didn't think you would be able to make it today."

"Oh no, I was just passing through on my way to—" She paused. "Wait, what do you mean? Were you two expecting me?" She looked from Germany to Austria.

Austria placed his hands on the keys, as if to play them angrily like he always did, then froze. He drew his hand back and took his glasses off, polishing the lenses. "No, we weren't…"

Hungary watched him curiously. "Um, is there something wrong with your piano?"

"…as a matter of fact, one of the strings broke," Austria replied bitterly, scrubbing his lenses harder. "I'm not supposed to play anything on it until the piano repairman comes to fix it. Tomorrow."

"Oh," Germany muttered. _Jeez, no wonder he's so on edge today…_ he thought. He distinctly remembered Prussia at one point comparing Austria's piano to crack cocaine… He shook his head. "Anyway, I just wanted to ask you a couple of quick questions."

"Fine," he muttered, putting his glasses back on. "What?"

"Well…yesterday I was…well, I keep hearing about this person named Holy Roman Empire," Germany said. "I just wanted to know what you…knew about him."

Hungary spoke up before Austria had the chance. "Oh, I remember the Holy Roman Empire!" She smiled sadly. "He was such a sweet child…"

Germany stared at her. "You knew him too?" He asked. _Gott, was I the only person who didn't know this kid?_ He wondered.

"Yes," she nodded, "I used to work for Austria at the time. All of us lived in the same house. Italy lived there too." She giggled slightly. "They were so cute. Austria, remember how Holy Rome used to follow Italy around?"

"Yes, I remember," Austria replied, twiddling him thumbs, staring unhappily at the piano keys.

Germany felt his hands clenching. "What do you mean by 'follow Italy around'?" He asked.

Hungary shrugged. "Holy Roman Empire would always follow Italy around the house while he cleaned. It was so cute." She smiled at the memory. "Italy never seemed to notice, of course."

Germany frowned slightly. "Um, so Italy and Holy Roman Empire…they were friends then?" He asked slowly.

Hungary nodded. "Yes."

Germany took a deep breath. "So…was that the extent of their relationship…?" He asked, glancing toward the floor.

"Gott, is that what this is about?" Austria mused. Germany glared at him. "You want to know about Italy's relationship with the Holy Roman Empire? Why, are you jealous of a boy who's been dead for centuries?"

"I-I'm just curious is all…" Germany stammered defensively.

(German to English translation – yes)

Austria rolled his eyes. "Let's see, I believe that they were each other's first loves, though both were too young to fully understand at the time I believe. Holy Roman Empire would chase Italy around all day, trying to force her—" he flinched slightly, "—_him_ to join him in becoming the largest empire in the world. Of course, when it came to anything other than that, Italy would be the one chasing him around."

"What do you mean?" Germany asked.

Hungary giggled a little. "Well, Holy Rome was very tsundere." When Germany gave her a blank look, she sighed and continued. "Italy is a very open person. Holy Roman Empire, on the other hand, was not. He was shy, intimidating, and always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

Germany frowned, trying to picture the kid. "What exactly did he look like?"

Hungary thought. "Let's see, he was blond, kinda messy hair, blue eyes…" She laughed. "Oh, and he had sideburns, kind of like yours." She paused.

_Kind of like mine…_ Germany thought blankly, staring down at the floor. _Jeez, this kid kind of sounds like me too…_

A memory flashed through his mind.

"_Italy-kun, can I ask you something?"_

_Italy and Germany both looked up at the small Japanese man standing nearby. It was WWII. They'd been attempting to train, and Italy was currently stuck halfway through a pushup, with Germany angrily berating him. So basically, just an avarage Monday for the Axis Powers._

"_Ve~ hi Japan!" He answered with a smile, quickly sitting up, happy for the excuse to stop exercising. "What?"_

"_Well, I was wondering something…you and Germany-san are such different people…but you're still friends. What exactly is it that you like about him?"_

_Italy thought for a long time, looking at Germany. Germany looked back, curious to the answer. Finally, Italy smiled, shrugged, and said, "I don't know."_

Germany shut his eyes at the memory. He'd always found it weird that Italy liked hanging out with him, even before then. It wasn't like he'd ever given him the incentive to. He'd yell at him, insult him, smack him upside the head, and Italy seemed genuinely terrified of him half the time. So why did Italy follow him around like a puppy since they met in WWI?

Well now Germany understood why. Italy didn't like Germany. He liked Holy Roman Empire.

"…Germany, are you alright?"

Germany glanced up at the other two. Hungary looked slightly worried. Austria looked mildly confused. Germany cleared his throat. "Thank you for your time…" he mumbled, standing up and walking away.

"No problem," Hungary replied, still looking slightly worried. "But are you alright?"

"Fine," he muttered. Then he paused in the doorway. "…one more thing…how exactly did Holy Roman Empire die?"

Hungary and Austria exchanged looks. Then Austria looked at him. "We're not completely sure," he said. "Nation deaths aren't usually something anyone talks about often. Only the people that were there know exactly what happened." He thought for a second. "So that would probably be France…and possibly your brother."

Germany nodded. "Right." He turned and trudged out of the house and over to his car. It was going to be a long ride home…

* * *

><p><em>Is it just me, or are these chapters getting longer every post? Huh.<em>

_I didn't end up giving Japan an accent, because I felt like I sounded slightly rasist..._

_And Austria isn't a very good liar._

_Oh, and for those that don't understand the title, it's a song. Played by the piano man. Haha... Ok, fine, I'm bad with puns._

_Thank you all for your feedback!_


	5. All's Fair In Love And War

Germany got home close to four. He climbed out of his car and walked inside. As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted by his dogs, all swarming in front of him and barking happily. He patted their heads, then noticed that the door to his brother's room was open. He peaked inside. "Bruder? Are you in there?"

No one answered. He sighed and walked into the kitchen. That was empty too, but the fridge was open, so he could only assume Prussia had been there recently. He closed the fridge door and peaked into the next room.

Prussia was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. There were the remains of a wurst and a half empty beer can lying on the small table in front of him. Gilbird, instead of sitting in his usual perch on Prussia's head, was sitting on the back of the couch behind him. Germany stood silently in the doorway, waiting for his brother to look up. When he didn't, Germany cleared his throat. Still Prussia didn't move.

Germany cleared his throat louder. Then he said quietly, "Hey, bruder, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Prussia gave a lethargic, "Goal," and continued ignoring his brother.

Germany sighed and sat down next to his brother. He watched the TV for a minute. "Is this an old fußball game?" He asked. "Who's winning?" Prussia didn't so much as move. Germany took a deep breath. "…Bruder, I'm sorry about fighting with you earlier."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Germany."

Germany flinched slightly. Prussia didn't move his eyes from the screen. After a few more seconds of silence, Germany stood up and walked back into the kitchen.

He sat down at the table, feeling terrible. He'd been hoping finding answers about Holy Roman Empire would've made him feel better. Instead, he felt almost a thousand times worse. And now his brother wouldn't even talk to him.

He put his head in his hands. Then he heard a weird buzzing noise. His head shot up. Lying on the table in front of him was his phone, vibrating loudly against the wood table. He sighed and grabbed it. He must've forgotten it when he left for Vienna. He pressed the answer button without so much as glancing at the caller ID. "Hello?" He answered groggily.

"Ve~ hi Germany!"

Germany froze. Scheiße.

"Romano said that you came to check up on me yesterday!" Italy said brightly on the other line, oblivious to the fact that Germany had stopped breathing. Then he paused for a second. "Well, to be honest, I asked him if you came and he started swearing a lot, so I think that means yes! And Spain said that you brought over your medical stuff too! Grazie!"

Germany opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His mind had gone completely blank. He felt a rising sense of panic shoot through his body.

"Germany?" Italy asked, sounding a little confused. "Are you there?"

Germany quickly hung up.

He sat there silently for minute, his phone still pressed tightly against his ear. He took a deep, shuttering breath, and slammed the phone back onto the table. "Verdammt," he hissed, putting his head back in his hands.

He sat there until it got dark. He looked up slowly, barely registering the blackness outside. Then he slowly stood up. He walked into his room and collapsed onto the bed.

…

_Ding Dong_

…

…

_Ding Dong_

Germany didn't move.

_Ding Dong_

He flinched slightly, looking up at the clock. 10:04 AM. He pressed his face back into the pillow.

_Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong Ding Dong_

"I'm _COMING_, damn it!" He shouted angrily, climbing out of his bed.

He trudged slowly over to the front door. He grabbed the doorknob and furiously yanked the door open. "WHAT?" He shouted.

"Bonjour, mon ami!" France said with a smile, holding up a beer can. Then his face fell. "Oh, Germany, it's you," he mumbled. He glanced past him. "Is your brother 'ere…?"

Germany glanced toward Prussia's door. "Depends on your definition of 'here'," he replied softly. Then he turned back toward the Frenchmen. "What exactly do you want?"

"Well, I 'ad come 'ere to visit my…good friend Prussia," he stepped past Germany into the house as he spoke, "but I guess if he's too 'ung over…"

"He's not really hung…hey, I didn't invite you in!" Germany yelled.

"I know. It was implied." He walked over and knocked on Prussia's door. "Bonjour!" He called loudly. "Is zere anyone in 'ere?"

Germany took a deep breath and counted to ten. He'd learned that trick around when France first started showing up at his house to go drinking with his brother. "Listen, France, my bruder really isn't in the mood for—"

He froze. France. He was talking to France. France, who'd been there when Holy Roman Empire died.

France glanced up to find Germany staring at him. "Err, is zere something wrong, Germany…?" He asked uncomfortably.

Germany blinked. "Oh, uh, ja! Ja, I just remembered that I needed to talk with you. I wanted to know about—" He froze. He looked over toward his brother's room. If Prussia heard what Germany was going to ask, he'd be even angrier. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Would you mind stepping into the other room?"

France raised an eyebrow, but followed Germany into the next room. They both sat down on the couch. Germany took a deep breath. He DEFINITELY couldn't tell France about Italy…he needed to bring this up delicately…

"Listen, France, I wanted to ask you something…"

France sighed. "Oh, it's alright, Germany. I think I already know what you want to ask about."

Germany stiffened. "Oh, y-you do…?" He stammered nervously.

"Oui," he replied, reaching over and patting Germany's thigh, "and I just want you to know that these feelings you feel toward me are perfectly natural…"

Germany blinked. Then he launched himself backward over the side of the couch, screaming, "NEIN! NO! THAT IS _NOT _WHAT I MEANT! NO! MEIN GOTT, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

France gave a disappointed sigh. "Non? Fine." He crossed his arms and leaned back. "Well, what is it zat you want zen?"

Germany tried to calm himself by taking another deep breath. It didn't work. "W-Well," he stammered, sitting back down as far away from the Frenchman as possible, "I-I was wondering what you knew about someone named Holy Roman Empire."

All of the blood immediately drained from France's face. He sat there silently for a moment. Then he turned and looked back toward Prussia's room. "You didn't bring zat up with Prussia, did you? Is zat why 'e 'as been locked in 'is room? I thought you were supposed to be ze smart brother!"

Germany scowled. "What are you talking about?" He asked. "Why is my bruder so angry?"

France sighed. "Listen, Germany, zere are three topics zat I've learned can actually upset your brother. One of course is ze Cold War. You can imagine why zat is…"

Germany shuddered, remembering how terrible his brother had looked by the time they'd torn down the Berlin wall…

"Let me see…" France closed his eyes and leaned back, thinking. "Second would be Nazism."

Germany winced slightly. That one he hadn't known…

"And the third one would be ze 'oly Roman Empire."

"Why? Was he there when Holy Roman Empire died?" Germany asked.

France nodded. "Oui. Zey were both fighting against me in ze war…It was during ze Revolution I believe…"

Germany glanced back toward Prussia's room. "Is that why he gets so upset?"

"I don't know," France answered with a shrug. "It is not a topic we usually bring up."

Germany blinked and looked back toward France. "Wait, so the both of you were there when a Nation died and you both just choose not to even talk about it?"

France rolled his eyes. "Oh, like you don't try to ignore think like zat. Everyone has something zat zey try to forget. Just close your eyes, count to three, pretend it never 'appened, and everything will turn out alright."

Germany frowned. "Still…" he muttered. Then he shook his head. "Whatever. I still want to know what you know about Holy Roman Empire. The person."

France sighed. "Well, I didn't know ze boy all zat well," he said. Then a creepy smile spread across his face. "Or, at least, as well as I would 'ave 'oped…"

Germany gagged slightly. "I don't want to know about that," he hissed, again scooting back toward the edge of the couch. "Do you know anything about the actual Nation?"

France gave a sly smile. "So why ze sudden curiosity about ze 'oly Roman Empire…?"

Germany stiffened. "N-None of your business," he stammered, glancing away.

"Does it 'ave anything to do with Italy, maybe…?"

Germany flinched slightly. "N-No," he stammered. "W-Why would it?"

France laughed slightly. "Don't lie to me. Big Brother France knows everything! Especially when it comes to love…"

"W-What's that supposed to…s-shut up," Germany stammered, feeling his face heating up slightly. "And the only person I call 'big brother' is the inebriated idiot living in my basement."

France sighed. "Fine, fine…" He smiled and scooted closer to Germany. "Of course, if you ever need any help with anything…" he put his hand back on Germany's leg. "Per'aps a 'demonstration'—"

"Touch me and I will break all of your fingers."

France blanched and drew his hand back quickly. Germany sighed, and decided to change the subject as quickly as possible. "So, how exactly did he die?" He asked.

France scratched his beard, thinking. "Well, I was not right zere when it 'appened," he answered. "It can be 'ard to keep track of everyzing during war. You understand."

Germany nodded. He remembered in WWII, how he'd always try to keep track of Italy, how it was almost impossible to fight while trying to watch out for someone else, how every time he lost sight of the small Italian he'd desperately search the battlefield for him, trying not to panic. "So did you see him die…?" He asked after a second.

France frowned, staring off into the distance. "No, not really. Both sides retreated when zey realized…" he trailed off, a glazed look crossing his eyes. "I did see zem carry ze boy away, as we were leaving…whezer he was alive or not by zen, I really can't say…" He was silent for a moment, then gave a bitter laugh. "We won ze battle of course…"

They both sat there silently for a while, neither quite sure what to say now. After a while, France stood up. "Well, zis 'as been…" he trailed off, trying to think of an adjective, but he ended up just shrugging. "I suppose I will be 'eading out to annoy Angleterre or somezing…"

Germany nodded, standing up too. "Right. Thank you for your help," he said. Then he sighed. "Course, now I need to figure out how to get my bruder to tell me about Holy Roman Empire…"

France looked mildly amused. "You're still going to ask 'im? Wow, I really was wrong about you being ze smarter brother…"

Germany glared at him. "I don't have anyone else I can ask," he replied, deciding to try and ignore the insult.

France shrugged. "Alright, zen." He started leaving, then paused. "If I might make a suggestion," he said, glancing back toward Germany, "try taking 'im out for drinks." When Germany looked at him skeptically, he smirked. "Trust me, when 'e gets drunk, 'e will not stop talking. You wouldn't believe ze things he's told me…"

Germany scowled. "Like what?"

France scratched his beard again. "Let's see… 'e used to refer to Germania as 'mommy' as a child, 'e once made out with Gilbird on a dare, 'e one time accidentally got Italy's 'air curl stuck in your dryer, 'e convinced you when you were a child zat you could fly if you 'eld your breath and 'ad to take care of you after you broke your arm, oh, and 'e said zat you used to suck you thumb and sleep with a…stick…every night for several years."

Germany's eye twitched. "I…I'm going to kill him…" he hissed.

France smirked. "Oui, so just ask 'im if 'e wants to go drinking. No matter 'ow angry 'e is, 'e'll say yes." He turned away and strode through the door. "…Good luck, Germany." And with that, France was gone.

* * *

><p><em>I love France...still hard to write in an accent, though. Sorry if it makes anything hard to read. Or if I forgot to write it in somewhere.<em>

_I feel as though the next chapter is going to be a fun one. Stay tuned!_

_Oh, and Angleterre means England._


	6. Brotherly Love

Germany stood there for a minute of two after France left. _Drinking? _He wondered._ Well, maybe that could work… _He shrugged. _Couldn't hurt, I suppose…_

A thought flashed through his mind, of his brother calling him at two in the morning from jail. He shook his head quickly. _I'll just keep an eye on him, _he told himself. _A VERY close eye on him._

He took a deep breath and walked over to Prussia's door. "Bruder?" He called, knocking on the door. "Prussia, are you awake?" He was met with silence. He sighed. "I know you're still angry with me," he said slowly. "I was hoping I could make it up to you by going drinking." He paused, straining his ears for any movement on the other side of the door. Then he sighed and turned. "Guess that won't work…" he murmured to himself.

The door swung open and suddenly Prussia had an arm around Germany's shoulders. "Aw, West, you always know how to cheer me up!" He said, grinning the way he usually did. Germany jumped slightly, startled by his brother's sudden appearance. "But just remember, the Awesome Me happens to be short on cash…"

Germany rolled his eyes. Prussia always had cash on him. Of course, it was usually Germany's so it really didn't matter who paid. "Alright, I'm buying," he replied. Then he smiled slightly. "So you're not still mad at me…?"

"Don't know what you're talking about, West."

Germany opened his mouth to protest, but then quickly closed it again. _Just close your eyes, count to three, and pretend it never happened…_ He sighed. "Alright, so we'll go drinking later."

"Hell yeah!" Prussia responded. Then he glanced at the clock. "Whoa, it's almost noon. I should get something to eat."

Germany glanced at the clock too. 11:47. He nodded. "Yeah, same here." He paused. "Oh, by the way, France came to visit you earlier," he said.

Prussia nodded. "I could hear his obnoxious accent from here." He walked into the kitchen. "Oh yeah, and Italy called me last night. Said he called you earlier but his call got dropped or something."

Germany flinched. "Uh, ja…" he responded weakly, following him into the kitchen and sitting down at the table.

Prussia looked over at him. "You hung up, didn't you?" He asked.

"…no…"

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Come on, West, man up. Grow a pair. How are you going to survive the World Conference thingy tomorrow if you can't bring yourself to talk to the person who we both know is going to follow you around the entire time?"

Germany froze. The World Conference. He kept forgetting. How was he supposed to survive the Conference with Italy there? He sat there silently for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. "I'll be fine," he assured himself more than Prussia. "I'll just focus on the discussions and—Prussia, fork out of the microwave."

Prussia froze, looking over at the food he was about to heat up. "Huh, didn't even notice that." He reached into the microwave and pulled the fork out. "Well, whatever. Good luck with that." He sat down next to Germany.

Germany sighed. "Danke," he replied. Then under his breath, he murmured, "I'll need it…"

…

Several hours later (Germany had to stop and get a _lot_ money for the beer) they were driving to Prussia's favorite bar. It was old, dark, musty, and cheap. Just how Prussia and his friends liked it. Germany had learned long ago to never go drinking with Prussia and his friends, (still to this day, Germany would still cringe whenever someone brought up bananas…) so he almost never went to this particular bar. But Prussia and his friends had been to this bar often enough that people had begun recognizing them.

Germany realized this when most of the bar cleared out as soon as they entered.

It was going to be a long night…

(Two Drinks Later)

Prussia grabbed a third beer and started chugging. Then he paused, glancing toward his younger brother. "Hey, West, how come you're not drinking anything?" He asked curiously.

Germany sighed unhappily. If the object of this night was to get info out of Prussia, Germany would have to abstain a little from drinking for the night. Which, in and of itself, was horrible.

"Uh, w-what are you talking about, bruder?" Germany muttered, glancing away. "I've already drunk two beers."

Prussia blinked. "Really? Jeez, how many have I drunk?"

Germany thought for a second. "Uh, seven," he lied.

Prussia stared at his beer for a second. "Awesome. I must be getting good at this!" With that, he took another swig.

(Four Drinks Later)

"Whoa, West, look at this!"

Germany glanced up to find Gilbird flying dizzily in circles around Prussia's head, eventually colliding with the side and falling onto the table. Germany frowned. "You gave your bird alcohol?"

"Yeah!" Prussia answered, picking the semiconscious bird and plopping him back onto his head. "He's completely drunked. Hilarious, right?"

"Uh, sure…"

(Seven Drinks Later)

"So…So West," Prussia turned toward his brother, starting to slur his words a little. "I…I was wonderin' if you…if you liked bananas."

Germany cringed. "Shut up," he muttered, turning away.

"H-Hey!" Prussia yelled, turning toward the bartender in front of them. She jumped slightly and looked up. "Hey, hey Gretchen, have I met you my…mein little bruder?" He asked, taking another swig of beer and roughly pinching Germany's cheek. Germany swatted his hand.

The bartender scowled at him. "Three times. And my name is Frieda."

"Yeah, well this here is West!" He shouted as the bartender walked away. "And he's oldish and stuff but y'know I'm more older than him 'cause he's like," he hiccupped, then lost his train of thought. "Hey West!" He shouted, turning back toward his brother.

Germany sighed. "Ja?" He asked, slightly afraid of the answer.

"…hi."

Germany sighed and gave his beer a longing look.

(Germany Lost Count by This Point)

"West! West, where'd you go?" Prussia shouted loudly, looking around. His speech was very slurred and his face was flushed slightly. "Holy crap are you invisible?"

Germany sighed from behind him. "Prussia, I'm sitting right here."

Prussia spun around and fell to the floor. "Whoa, how'd the floor get over here?" He shouted. Then he laughed. "I bet it was 'cause of my awesomeness! Kesesesese!"

Germany bent down and pulled his brother to his feet. _Well, now's as good a time as any, _he thought. "Hey, Prussia, can I ask you something?"

Prussia looked at him. Then he started laughing. "Oh West, you're so silly. I already gave you the talk!"

Germany scowled. "No you didn't. You gave me a porno and told me to 'educate' myself." He shook his head quickly. "Listen, Prussia, can you tell me about the Holy Roman Empire?"

Prussia stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed suspiciously. After a moment, he asked, "Who wants to know?"

"…um, me," Germany clarified with a sigh. "I do."

Prussia blinked. Then he grinned. "He was so tiny!" He declared, hiccupping slightly. "He was 'bout this big!" He held up his finger and his thumb, then giggled slightly. "Such a cute little bird…"

"That would be Gilbird," Germany corrected, starting to feel annoyed. "I asked about Holy Roman Empire."

Prussia thought for a second. "Oh yeah…" he murmured, as if just remembering that Gilbird wasn't the Holy Roman Empire. "Let's see…" He closed his eyes. "…He wore a hat."

Germany rolled his eyes. "Really," he muttered, resting his head in his hand and taking a small sip of beer. _This is why I should never take advice from France, _he thought unhappily.

Prussia nodded fervently. "Yup! Always wearing that idiotic lookin' hat." He paused to think for a second. "And, y'know, he always had that one broom he carried around too," he continued. "Carried it around like an idiot all day. Said that Italy gave it to him as a goodbye present or somethin'."

Germany sat up, startled. "Italy did?" He asked.

Prussia leapt to his feet. "ARE YOU JUDGING ME?" He shouted.

Germany jumped. "What?" He grabbed Prussia's arm and pushed him back onto his chair. "No. Sit down, arschloch! Tell me more about Holy Roman Empire."

Prussia thought some more. "Well, he was really obnoxious and stuff, y'know? He was always all like 'I'mma be the biggest empire ev'r and…and then me and Italy 'll get married and you're just jealous that I'm gonna be awesomer than you!' So I punched him in the face. Kesesese—"

"You punched him in the face?" Germany asked incredulously.

"Not that hard!" Prussia protested. "It wasn't that bad of a punch, just a little one, 'cept he kept bitching 'bout it and stuff." He shrugged and started drinking another beer. "He tried convincin' me to join him in the whole 'empire-y' type stuff a couple of times too. Always talkin' 'bout shit like that." He hiccupped again. "So annoying…"

He took another large swig and sighed. "Well, brothers are supposed to be like that, right?"

Germany froze, eyes widening. _What…? _He thought numbly.

Prussia inspected his mug closely. "Aw man, my beer is gone—"

Germany abruptly grabbed Prussia's shirt, knocking his mug to the floor with a loud crash. "What do you mean 'brother'?" He shouted.

Prussia blinked, slowly looking down at the glass on the floor. "You broked my beer," he mumbled sadly. "Mörder…you murdered my beer…"

Germany shook him back and forth. "You're not listening to me! What the hell did you mean by 'brother'?"

Prussia rolled his eyes and smacked Germany's head. "Come on, at one point he was called Heiliges Römisches Reich Deutscher Nation: Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. O' course we're related…"

Germany stared at him for a second. _Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation… _"So I…I had a…another brother?" He asked, stunned. "He was my…my…?"

Prussia blinked blearily a few times. "That depends. Who're you again?"

Germany flinched. "I'm Germany," he growled darkly. "Your bruder, schwachkopf."

Prussia laughed. "Oh, I thought you were Ralph!"

"Who the hell is Ralph?" Germany shouted angrily, starting to freak out.

"I dunno," Prussia replied with a shrug. "Oh yeah, and if Russia shows up at our house later, tell him I have an evil twin named 'Bertgil'." He snorted with laughter.

Germany stared at him for a few seconds, feeling a sinking pit in his stomach. Then he mumbled, "You'd be the evil twin…" He took a deep breath. "Come on. Let's go home, dummkopf." He grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him out to the car.

…

Germany sat silently in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed. Even from where he was, he could hear his brother snoring loudly from the basement, which only happened when he was going to be painfully hung over in the morning. But to be perfectly honest, Germany really didn't care.

He sat there for a long time, trying to figure out what was happening. Everything that he'd learned about Holy Roman Empire was swirling around his head, and he felt as if his brain was going to explode any second.

He took a deep, shaky breath, then stood up and walked to the desk at the side of his room. He needed to try and organize his thoughts. He grabbed an old notebook and flipped to an empty page. On the top, he wrote:

_Holy Roman Empire._

He sighed, biting the end of the pen. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. Then he started writing:

_1.) Killed in war with France_

_2.) Was in love with Italy_

_3.) Lived with Austria and Hungary_

_4.) Looked like me_

_5.) Acted like me_

_6.) Ambitious. Controlled a large region of land, including Austria and Italy_

_7.) My brother…?_

He looked over what he'd written so far. Then he grabbed a pen and angrily scribbled it all out. Why did any of it matter anymore? This was the person Italy would always be in love with, not Germany. He tore the page out, crushed it in his hand, and chucked it at the waste basket in the corner. Then he stared at the empty page beneath it, seeing the lined paper beginning to blur. He shut his eyes tightly.

Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. That meant that they were related somehow, didn't it? That was a major fact he'd overlooked. _Then again,_ he thought, _Prussia has told me some pretty outlandish things when drunk before…_ He remembered once when Prussia had told him that France was really a woman and that Hungary could breathe fire on Thursdays.

On the other hand, there were a lot of German states Germany was related to, many of which had died a long time ago. He'd had many older brothers that had died around when Germany had first become a unified country. But Holy Roman Empire…?

Germany clenched his teeth and rested his forehead against the desk. His head was throbbing painfully, and he was starting to feel sick. His head was swimming. _Why? _He thought._ Why is all of this happening to me? Why, after everything I've been through with Italy, am I still going to end up alone…?_

* * *

><p><em>Well, chapter six. I think this is the longest so far. A little depressing at the end, huh? Maybe it'll get cheerier in a few chapters. Well, it's still fun writing Drunk Prussia. And about the banana thing, you're supposed to use your imagination. Come on, it's not that difficult with France there.<em>

_And yes, I'm doing the deck broom thing. Not the underwear._

_Danke ~ Thanks_

_Mörder ~ Murderer_


	7. World Conference

_Germany walked down the empty street, trying to remember where he was going. Or did he need to go anywhere? It was a beautiful day, maybe he could just walk around town for a while. He looked up at the blue sky, blinking from the harsh sunlight. He shielded his eyes and glanced around again._

_Standing on the other side of the road, his brother was waving at him, grinning widely. He was shouting something, but for some reason it sounded muted, like there was an invisible wall between the two of them. He could faintly hear him shouting his name._

_Germany nodded and waved back. Then he noticed someone standing next to Prussia. Well, not really a person, but more of a faint outline, of a young man with blond hair and purple eyes. He waved weakly at Germany then walked straight through Prussia. Prussia didn't seem to notice, didn't so much as glance around._

_Germany blinked, feeling slightly confused. Who was that, he wondered. Then he shrugged continued walking._

"_Ve~ Hi Germany!"_

_Germany froze and looked around. Standing farther down the road was Italy. His eyes were closed like they always were and he was wearing the same, innocent smile that he always did. He was waving at him happily._

_Germany smiled back at him and jogged over. He opened his mouth to greet his friend when someone stepped out of the shadows next to Italy. Germany froze. Standing next to Italy was what looked like a mirror image of Germany. He was tall, blond, muscular, the only differences being the unkempt hair and the cold smirk on his face._

"…Hey, West, are you awake?" Prussia whispered softly.

"_Germany, this is Holy Roman Empire!" Italy told him with a smile, hugging the other man tightly around the waist. "He's the sweetest, strongest, kindest, best person in the whole wide world!" He announced. Then he looked over at Germany. "So I don't really have to hang out with you anymore…"_

_Germany stiffened, staring at Italy. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but found that nothing came out._

"West, I think you need to wake up now…" Prussia whispered, shaking Germany's shoulder. "West…"

_Italy giggled slightly. "Ve~, why would I need to keep hanging out with you?" He asked. "I don't need to anymore. I've got Holy Roman Empire!" He leaned his head against Holy Roman Empire's shoulder, still smiling._

_Germany felt like he was falling. He couldn't move. He tried to shout, but his voice was gone. He stood there stiffly as Italy and Holy Roman Empire turned and started walking away. He wanted to shout, to tell Italy to come back, to—_

"Wake up, you schwachkopf." Prussia jammed Herr Stick into the side of Germany's head.

Germany shouted and sat straight up. Prussia yelped and cringed, grabbing his now-pounding head. "Scheiße, West, why the hell are you so loud?" He whispered hoarsely. "Verdammt…"

Germany stared at him, his heart pounding painfully in his throat. He exhaled slowly. A dream. Just a dream. "Sorry," he murmured to his brother, then slowly stood up.

Prussia watched him as he started walking away, looking slightly concerned beneath the pained look on his face. "You alright, West? You seem kind of—oh Gott, natural light," he hissed as Germany opened the curtains.

Germany sighed and sat down on the bed, rubbing his eyes. He must've fallen asleep. He yawned and lay back on his bed. "Did you want me for something, bruder?" he asked softly.

Prussia looked up at him. "Yeah, I thought I should let you know that it's ten thirty," he replied.

Germany rolled his eyes. "Why the hell should I care?" He asked.

"The World Conference started at eight."

Germany froze. He slowly sat up and glanced at his clock. 10:32 A.M.

"SON OF A—" He leapt to his feet and sprinted out of the room as fast as he could, swearing at the top of his lungs.

…

Germany slammed the door open, gasping for breath. All of the Nations looked up at him, startled. They stared at him, as if they couldn't believe that he was really there. Then America jumped to his feet. "Ha!" He shouted. "I got here before Germany! That makes me responsible! Ha!"

"No, it means that Germany's a tardy git," England snapped angrily back from the other side of the table. "Now sit down, you bloody arse!" He crossed his arms, muttering darkly under his breath. "I can't believe I missed the wedding for this…"

America grinned. "So, varoom send see zoo spait, Germany?"

Germany blinked. "Excuse me...?" He asked. "What…are you…?"

"I'm spreking ze doichsh!" He answered, still grinning. "Duh. Can't you speak German anymore?"

Germany suppressed his gag reflex. "Um, that…" He shook his head.

Austria, the closest person to the door, whispered, "He's been doing that since he realized you were gone. Please make his stop."

Japan, who was sitting nearby, whispered, "Are you alright, Germany-san? You're almost never late. Did something happen?"

France, who was sitting next to him, grinned and patted his leg. "Don't worry. Germany was just 'ung over from a night of drinking with 'is brother." He winked at Germany, then patted slightly higher on Japan's leg, causing him to flinch and scoot his chair toward Greece, who was sleeping soundly next to him.

Germany sighed and started scanning the room for his chair. Since they'd begun having large meetings like this, they'd often had difficulty organizing where everyone sat. They'd ended up randomizing where the Nations would sit. The only rules were that Korea couldn't sit near his brothers, France, England, and America couldn't be within strangling distance of each other, and Belarus had to be seated as far away from Russia and Lithuania as physically possible. Also Prussia and Sealand were both banned from the meetings. Forever.

Germany noticed an empty chair near the far end of the table. He sighed and started walking toward it, then froze.

In the next chair over, Germany caught sight of a familiar face, bouncing up and down excitedly. He was waving happily at Germany, smiling. "Ciao Germany! Buongiorno!"

Germany stared at him, his stomach suddenly like ice. Then he turned away quickly. _Oh God, _he thought frantically. _Nein, I can't sit next to Italy!_ He took a deep breath._ Well, maybe it's just a coincidence that seat is empty—_

"Ve~ Germany, look! We get to sit next to each other!" Italy called happily, swinging his legs back and forth. "Isn't this great? We almost never get to sit next to each other!"

Germany flinched. "I-Is that so…" he murmured weakly, feeling a rising sense of panic. He walked over and down next to Italy, staring at the table.

Germany could practically feel Italy's excitement radiating off his body as he continued bouncing happily up and down. "Germany, isn't this great?" He repeated, oblivious to Germany's panic. "We haven't got to sit next to each other since forever!"

Germany shut his eyes tightly and tried to focus on what England was saying, forcing himself to breath evenly.

"…and anyway, since the global economy is still currently in a slump, I think that it would be beneficial to—you bloody frog, what the hell are you doing? Pay attention!"

"I was, mon ami!" France protested. "Well, I would've been, but your voice is just so…so…what's ze word…?"

"Boring? Obnoxious? Monotonous? Sleep-inducing? Grating? Painful? Stupid—?"

"_Thank you for that, America,_" England hissed.

"Yeah, I found this sweet thesaurus under my chair and—"

"Hey Germany…"

Germany flinched slightly, glancing toward Italy. Italy was looking at him with a weird look. "How come your hair is all messy today?" He asked quietly, looking slightly confused.

Germany stiffened. He reached up and felt his bangs, which were hanging in his face. He'd forgotten to fix his hair before he left, the way he usually would, meticulously smoothing it out until it was perfect. He sighed and started trying to fix his hair.

"You don't have to fix it," Italy told him with a smile. "It looks nice this way too."

For a split second, Germany's dream flashed through his mind. He saw his own face smirking at him, his hair messy and unkempt. He flinched and whipped his hand back from his hair, accidentally smashing it against the table.

"SCHEIßE!" He screamed, grabbing his hand. England paused from what he'd been saying to glare at him. Germany grimaced and looked away. He could hear Romano snicker from somewhere nearby. Suddenly, all of his panic was gone. Instead he just felt angry, confused, embarrassed, and furious.

"Germany, are you ok?" Italy asked, concerned, reaching out to grab Germany's hurt hand.

"_Shut up!_" He spat back, then turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Italy's shoulders slump slightly as he drew his hand back, looking confused and hurt. Germany shut his eyes tightly. _That was stupid, _he told himself. _Just calm down. Focus on the meeting. Don't look at him. Don't think about him. Just hold it all inside…_

They sat silently for a while longer, Germany's clenched hands shaking on the table, and Italy sitting silently next to him. After what seemed like an eternity, America's watch started beeping. "Whoa, it's noon," America said loudly, cutting England off midsentence. "Sweet, I don't have to listen to this crap anymore! Okay, lunch-break everyone!" He announced, standing up.

Everyone immediately started picking up their things, tucking them away, and heading outside. Germany could hear the others making lunch plans, America challenging Japan to a rematch in "Call of Duty" or something like that, and England muttering unhappily to something invisible near his shoulder. Germany reached forward to grab his papers, only to realize that there was nothing there. He swore under his breath and stood up, heading toward the door.

Italy hopped to his feet behind him, smiling again, though he did look a bit nervous. "Ve~ Germany, you wanna go get some pasta with me—?"

Germany walked away and slammed the door behind him.

Italy flinched slightly and stood there for a minute, alone in the room. He started walking slowly toward the door. "Is Germany mad at me…?" He wondered aloud.

…

"Germany-san, are you feeling alright?"

Germany looked up quickly to find Japan standing in front of him, looking both worried and uncomfortable. "Ja, of course," he lied, looking away. "Why wouldn't I?"

Japan glanced around. "Um, well aside from the fact that you're…encamped in the bathroom," he muttered, looking uncomfortable, "well, Italy-kun seems to think that you're upset with him for some reason."

Germany didn't make any reply, instead closely inspecting his shoes. Japan looked closely at him. "Are you upset with him, Germany-san?"

Germany gritted his teeth and stood up. "I don't want to talk about it," he grunted, walking out the door.

Japan followed after him. "You've been acting strange today. Are you sure that there's nothing wrong?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he hissed angrily.

Japan frowned, not looking convinced. Nearby, America hopped to his feet and called, "Yo, Japan, you done goin' to the bathroom? I still need to kick your ass in Call of Duty!"

Japan looked up. "Oh, はい, I will be there in a second, America-kun." He glanced toward Germany, still looking slightly concerned, then headed over toward America. Germany sighed and followed after him.

America and Japan sat down on the large couch that was in the small lounge area outside one of the meeting rooms. They generally had to have something like it or America would start complaining. At the moment, he had a videogame console hooked up to the large TV. He also had a large greasy bag of who knows what sitting next to him.

Germany sighed and watched as the two started their videogame. _Maybe this could get my mind off of everything…_ he thought hopefully.

"G-Germany?"

Germany flinched and turned around. Italy was standing behind him, holding a large steaming bowl to his chest. "Um, ciao Germany," he said slowly. "I was…um, I made you some pasta!" He said, holding the large bowl out toward Germany.

"I'm not hungry," Germany replied, turning away.

Italy stared at him for a second. Then he pulled the pasta bowl back to his cheat. "Oh," he murmured. He stood there for another moment, trying to think of what else to say. "Ve, I never thanked you for the medical stuff, so grazie." Germany ignored him. "Germany?" He asked, staring at his friend. After a second, he asked, "Y…You're not mad at me…right Germany?"

Germany gritted his teeth and continued to ignore him. His dream flashed through his mind again.

Italy walked over next to Germany. "Right Germany…?" He asked again, starting to look slightly scared. "Germany…?"

"I don't want to talk right now, Italy," he muttered darkly.

Italy pursed his lips, thinking hard. Then he smiled. "Ve~ does Germany need a hug?" He asked, then leaned over and wrapped his arms tightly around Germany's torso.

"_**WILL YOU STOP IT?**_"

Italy yelped and jumped backward. The room went dead silent. Germany was gasping, his arms shaking uncontrollably. "JUST STOP IT!" He screamed again. "STOP HUGGING ME, STOP TALKING TO ME, JUST LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE DAMN IT!"

Italy stared at him, his eyes wide. "I-I'm sorry Germany, I—"

"_SHUT UP!_" Italy flinched away. "_JUST SHUT THE F*CK UP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANYTHING YOU HAVE TO SAY, OKAY? YOU'RE PATHETIC! YOU DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ME, SO JUST __**SHUT UP**__!_"

"G-Germany—"

Germany screamed, grabbed a small glass bowl off a nearby table, and flung it at the wall, where it shattered into hundreds of pieces.

He stood there for a few moments, gasping, feeling all of his anger draining out of him. Suddenly he just felt empty. He blinked once, and looked around. By then most of the other Nations had slipped inside. Everyone was staring at him, horrified.

Worst of all was Italy, his eyes starting to fill with confused tears.

Germany turned away and made a beeline toward the door. He heard Italy start after him. "G-Germany, I'm sorry, I—"

Germany lost the rest of the sentence as he slammed the door behind him. He stood there silently for a moment. Then he ran down the hallway, it slowly sinking in that he'd probably just done the stupidest thing in his life.

* * *

><p><em>And this is why you should never bottle up your emotions, my friends. Because you snap. You really do.<em>

_Jeez, this chapter was pretty angsty. Don't worry, next one should be a little better._

_Yup, dream sequences use Align Center._

_Warum sind Sie zu spät? (this is what America was attempting to say) ~ Why were you late? Note: even if this is wrong, America probably wouldn't care._

_はい__(hai) ~ yes_


	8. Guilt

Italy stood in front of the door, staring blankly at it, as if he expected Germany to come back any second. The rest of the room stood there silently, no one quite sure what to do. They all glanced nervously at each other, everyone afraid to break the silence.

Romano crept over to his brother. "V…Veneziano…?" He asked tentatively.

Italy turned slowly toward his brother. He gave a choked sob and buried his face in Romano's shoulder. Romano stiffened slightly, then patted Italy's back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "Uh, there there, fratello, don't…don't cry…um, that potato bastard is just a…an ass…"

Italy started crying harder. Romano cringed. "Damn it," he muttered. He glanced up at the others. "Err, me and Veneziano are gonna head home now," he told them and started dragging his brother toward the door.

The others just stood there for another minute. Finally, America managed to say, "Holy shit!"

…

"Hey West, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Prussia stormed up the stairs and started pounding on Germany's bedroom door. "What the hell did you do?" He continued shouting. "Do you know how many text messages I just got? Let me tell you, it's a _lot. _I don't even know how half these people even got my number! I mean, seriously, did you tell Switzerland my number, because I sure as hell didn't! And hell, I don't even like the majority of these people! But now they're all texting me saying that you completely snapped! Even Belarus! And she's the most (censored) up person I've ever met! What the hell did you do?"

Prussia paused, realizing that Germany hadn't answered at all. "Seriously, West, what on earth did you do?" He paused again, starting to get annoyed. "I know you're in there," he said. He scowled. "West!" He stood there for a moment. Finally, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his lock picking kit, then tossed it over his shoulder and kicked the door open.

Germany was sitting in the corner of the room, several empty beer cans scattered across the floor. Prussia blinked. "Um, West, what're you doing?"

"I'm drownin my sorrows in alcohol like any other rational being," Germany muttered, his words slurring slightly. "What else would I possibly be doing arschloch?" He grabbed another beer and took a large swig. "I hope all of my sorrows asphyxiate and die."

Prussia walked over and sat down next to him. "I, uh, don't think that…sorrows work that way…"

"You know what? You are just an unsupportive person, aren't you?" Germany shouted. "You just always have to tell me off and you know what? You know what? I'm not taking it anymore, 'cause I-I am a beautiful person on the inside and you just have to shoot me down at every chance you get! If I want to a-asphyxiate my sorrows then I can and you can't tell me what to do just 'cause you're older than me and I am—" He hiccupped slightly. "I…I am a caterpillar and some day I'mma be a beautiful butterfly!"

Prussia blinked. "W…What…?"

"I'm a horrible person!" Germany suddenly wailed, burying his face in his hands. "I'm a horrible person. You should shoot me or something. Just shoot me."

"Um…" Prussia reached over and patted Germany's shoulder. "Calm down, West. I'm sure it's not that bad…"

Germany shook his head. "I-I just lost it. I just felt so angry and confused and I just started screaming at Italy and…I-I didn't mean any of it, I swear, I just couldn't think straight and I freaked out and I…" he trailed off. Then he murmured, "…and…Italy was crying…Gott, he must hate me…"

Prussia looked at him closely. He put an arm over Germany's shoulders. "…Don't worry, everything will work out," he assured Germany. "Just apologize to him. It's Italy. He'll forgive you, I promise."

Germany scowled over toward him. "Y…You sure…?" He mumbled.

Prussia grinned at him. "Has the Awesome Me ever let you down before?" He paused. "Okay, don't answer that." He stood up and grabbed Germany's arm, pulling him to his feet. "Just sleep a little, so you don't go there drunk. That would be…pretty un-awesome."

Germany nodded sleepily and collapsed onto his bed. Prussia patted his arm and walked out. "It'll work out alright."

…

Germany woke up about one the next day. He blinked sleepily, looking at the clock. Then he yawned and sat up. He slowly pushed himself to his feet and walked slowly into the bathroom.

He rubbed his eyes and closely inspected his reflection in the mirror. His hair was still disheveled and messy. He could still see the image of Italy burned into his retina, with terrified tears filling his eyes. Germany cringed, and smashed his fist angrily into the glass.

He yelped and drew his hand back, which was now bleeding. He took a deep breath. _Why on earth do I keep being so stupid? _He wondered bitterly, reaching beneath the sink for some bandages. He wrapped his hand tightly, watching the blood slowly soak through the bandages. He sat down on top of the toilet and stared blankly at the white tiled floor.

_I wonder what Italy is doing right now, _he thought. He shut his eyes. In his mind, he could picture Italy sitting in the same position he was. Except he was crying. Germany flinched and stood up. _I need to go apologize, _he told himself, a sharp pang of guilt in his chest.

He walked outside and passed Prussia as he headed toward the front door. "Hey, West. What happened to your hand?"

"Punched a mirror."

"…uh…awesome…?"

"Yeah, I'm going to Italy. See you later."

"Don't do anything too stupid."

Germany scowled at him. Then his eye caught the bandages on his hand, and he sighed deeply. "No promises," he muttered unhappily, and walked outside.

It took several hours for him to drive to Italy. By the time he got there, the sun was already beginning to sink, casting hundreds of bright colors across the sky. Germany stared up at the beautiful sunset, in the back of his mind hearing America insisting that the majority of those colors were toxic chemicals. He sighed and walked over to the front door. It all seemed like a case of déjà vu.

Until Romano yanked the door open and jammed a gun into Germany's stomach.

"What the hell do you want?" He shouted furiously. "You here to make Veneziano cry again? Get the hell off my porch, you bastard!"

Germany shook his head quickly, staring down at the gun. "I-I'm here to apologize!" He stammered quickly.

"Oh yeah, right," Romano snapped. "I don't give a shit! Because of you Veneziano has been crying for the past four days—!"

"I-It hasn't even been that long—"

"Shut up!" Romano snapped. "You are a horrible person and Veneziano won't stop crying and it's all your fault so get the hell out of my yard you stupid obnoxious potato bastard or I'll—!"

"Shoot me with a Nerf gun?" Germany asked, noticing the logo on the side of the plastic gun.

Romano scowled, then pulled the trigger.

Germany yelped as something hard hit his stomach, bouncing off and hitting the wall. "Scheiße!" He swore, stumbling backward. "W-What the hell is in that thing?"

"Marbles, bitch!" Romano yelled, cocking the gun and firing again. A small metal marble ricocheted off Germany's forehead. He yelped and grabbed at his head. "Now get the hell out of here!" Romano shouted.

Spain walked over. "Romano, what's going on?" He asked, rubbing the small (marble shaped) bruise on his temple. He glanced over toward Germany and froze. His eyes narrowed. "Oh. Did you need something, Germany?" He asked, a strange edge to his voice Germany had never heard before.

Germany cringed slightly. "Ja. I'm here to apologize to Italy. I…" he glanced down. "I had no right to yell at him like that. I just want to tell him that…"

Spain cocked his head. "Really?" He responded, most of the hostility gone from his voice.

"…bastard is just gonna make things worse," Romano pouted.

Spain glanced at Romano then thought for a second. He sighed. "Alright, come in," he said, stepping aside.

Romano grabbed his arm. "What the hell are you doing, bastard? You can't just invite the potato bastard into my house like that! He's just going to make things worse! I don't want him anywhere near my brother—"

"Romano," Spain interrupted. Romano paused, scowling. "I know you're mad at him, but you and I both know that this is probably going to be the only way to cheer your brother up."

Romano's jaw clenched. He glared from Spain to Germany, not sure who to direct his anger at. Finally, he muttered, "If you do anything to make him cry…" he paused, glanced around, then grabbed a tomato and held it threateningly in front of Germany's face.

"Err, right," he replied uncomfortably, stepping past him and heading down a hallway.

Romano started after him, but Spain grabbed his arm. Romano glared at him. "What the hell are you doing, idiota?" He hissed. "Let go of my arm!"

Spain smiled at him. "I think Italy will be fine," he said.

Romano glanced away. "I-I wasn't worried about Veneziano. I was just…I wanted to make sure he didn't break anything," he insisted, crossing his arms. "Yeah, just didn't want him breaking anything…"

Spain laughed a little and patted Romano's head affectionately. "Of course. Come on, let's go eat!" He grabbed Romano's hand and pulled him into the kitchen.

Germany stood outside Italy's door silently, trying to figure out what to say. Was he supposed to say he was sorry? Was he supposed to…hug him? Should he try to explain himself? Should he mention Holy Roman Empire, or tell Italy his feelings, or—_Whoa, not that last one, _he thought frantically, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and straightened up. It was now or never.

He softly knocked on Italy's door. "Italy?" He called. "Italy, are you in there?" He paused for a moment, listening. After a minute, he tried again. "Italy, please come out. I…I'm sorry about snapping at you." He knocked again. "Italy…I can understand if you're mad at me or—"

The door behind him opened. Germany jumped and spun around, to find Italy walking out of a small bathroom behind him. His hair was wet, and he was wearing a pair of boxers and an old button down shirt that hung loosely off his thin frame. His eyes were swollen slightly from what Germany figured was crying. His eyes were half open and focused on the floor. He shuffled quietly toward the door without so much as looking up. His head bumped against Germany's chest, and he mumbled a quick, "Sorry, Romano." He reached for his doorknob.

Germany grabbed his wrist. "Italy…"

Italy froze. He looked up quickly, startled. They stared at each other for a minute. Finally, Italy stammered, "G-Germany?"

Germany started to feel slightly self conscious. He glanced away, still feeling Italy's eyes locked on his face. "Ja, um, c-ciao Italy," he mumbled. "Listen, I…uh, I…I'm here to apolo—"

Italy practically tackled him into a hug. Germany stiffened and looked down, as Italy snuggled his face against his shoulder. "I-Italy?" He asked. After a second, he reached forward and patted Italy's shoulder, relaxing slightly and looking up at the door. _Wow, this was a lot easier than I thought it would, _Germany thought, relived. _And here I was afraid Italy wouldn't want to forgive me so easily—_

"I-I'm so s-sorry, Germany," Italy stammered weakly. Germany froze and looked back at Italy. He'd begun sobbing against Germany's chest. "I-I don't know what I did, but I'm so sorry. P-Please don't be mad at me, Germany, per favore, I'll do anything, please…" He buried his face harder into Germany's chest. "I-I'm sorry…"

Germany stared blankly at him for a moment. "W…What…?" He asked slowly. Now he felt terrible. Italy had spent the past twenty-four hours crying because he thought Germany was mad at him. Scheiße.

"Italy…" Germany said, trying to think of some way to cheer Italy up. "Italy…stop crying…" Italy didn't seem to hear him. Germany took a deep breath. "Italy, stop crying," he said louder.

Italy flinched and started crying harder. "I-I-I'm s-sorry G-Germany," he wailed. "I-I'm sorry."

Germany grimaced. "Nein, nein Italy I just meant…" he trailed off, realizing Italy couldn't hear him. Germany shut his eyes. _Think, you schwachkopf, think! _He thought desperately, raking his brain for something he could do.

Finally, he acted on impulse and wrapped Italy in a tight hug.

Italy immediately froze. He stood there for a moment, looking startled, then nervously looked up at Germany, as if not sure if Germany was attempting to crush him. "Germany…?"

"I'm sorry," Germany whispered to him. Italy stared at him, looking slightly confused. Germany swallowed nervously and continued. "I was never mad at you. I just…I was upset and confused, and…and that still doesn't give me an excuse for yelling at you like that…It was uncalled for, and I swear, I didn't mean any of it. So…" He glanced away, afraid to meet Italy's eyes. "So do you forgive me?"

Italy stood there, thinking hard. He looked up at Germany, then over to Germany's arms, which were still wrapped tightly around him. Finally, he asked, "Ve…so Germany…isn't mad at me…?" Germany shook his head. Italy gave a confused, "Ve…" and went back to trying to understand what Germany had just said.

Germany laughed slightly and patted Italy's back. Italy stiffened at the sound of Germany's laugh and looked up. Then he smiled and hugged Germany even tighter. "Ve~ I'm glad Germany isn't mad at me…" he murmured. "I thought Germany didn't want to be my friend anymore…"

Germany forced himself to weakly smile, feeling his face starting to heat up again. He rubbed Italy's back slightly, not quite sure what to do. After about a minute, Germany dropped his arms and mumbled, "Italy, you can let go now…" He shifted backward, and Italy started sliding down. Germany grabbed him, realizing Italy had somehow managed to fall asleep. He rolled his eyes and gently picked Italy up. He carried him into the bedroom.

Germany sighed as he set Italy down on the bed. _He must've forgotten to take his siesta, _he thought, patting Italy's head. He smiled slightly, watching Italy's chest slowly rising and falling with every breath. _Gott, Italy is adorable…_ He flinched slightly. _Scheiße, I'm pretty much watching Italy while he's sleeping; I'm turning into my bruder…or…or France… _With that horrifying thought, he shuddered and headed toward the door.

"Germany?"

Germany paused and glanced over his shoulder. Italy had sat up. "Germany, I…um…" he trailed off, looking away. "…could you…could you stay with me?" He asked nervously, his eyes fixed on his knees.

Germany felt himself blushing again. He shut his eyes and slowly walked back over to Italy's bed. With a grunt, he lay down next to Italy. Italy smiled at him. "Grazie, Germany."

Both of them closed their eyes.

…

An hour later, Germany woke up with Italy clinging tightly to him, as if he thought that the moment he let go Germany would disappear. Which, to be honest, was probably the case.

Germany blinked sleepily. "Italy…?" He mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Italy's head jerked upright. "Oh, hi Germany," he said softly. "I…thought you were asleep."

Germany sighed. "I was…"

"Oh," Italy mumbled. "I…I'm sorry."

Germany frowned. "You don't need to apologize."

"R-Right. I'm sorry."

Germany sighed again, shutting his eyes. He sleepily slid an arm around Italy and yawned. "You don't need to hug me so tightly," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."

"…You promise?"

Germany cracked an eye open. Italy was staring up at him, wide-eyed and scared. He frowned slightly. He thought. Then he held up his right hand, extending his pinky the way he had years ago. "Ja, I promise."

Italy blinked. Then he smiled slightly and wrapped his own pinky around his friend's. He shut his eyes, and almost immediately drifted off to sleep.

Germany stared at Italy for a moment. He couldn't help but smile slightly. He still had plenty of unanswered questions he wanted to look in to, but…as long as Italy was happy, he could survive like this…

…

Italy woke up a few hours later. He glanced around sleepily. He smiled when he looked over at Germany, who still had an arm wrapped around Italy's waist. It was a nice change Italy thought. He snuggled against Germany's chest.

_Ve~ I'm glad Germany's not mad at me, _he thought. He looked up at Germany's face and smiled again. It was rare that Italy was awake before Germany. He just looked so peaceful when he slept. Italy giggled slightly. Then he shut his eyes, leaned closer, and kissed Germany's cheek.

_Italy was standing forlorn as he watched Holy Roman Empire, for the last time. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a blinding blue. The trees and grass were an emerald green. But Italy didn't see any of it. All he could see was Holy Roman Empire, waving goodbye to him for the last time. Italy stood there for a while, replaying their kiss over and over again in his mind…_

Italy flinched and turned away, so his back was to Germany. _What just happened? _He wondered. _What the heck was that? _He glanced over his shoulder toward Germany. He quickly turned away again.

They looked so similar. They were similar. But they were two completely different people. Germany, Holy Roman Empire…they were two different people.

And Italy loved Holy Roman Empire. Not Germany.

Didn't he?

Italy shut his eyes tightly, feeling guilty, and scared, and confused. He took a deep, shuddering breath. No, he couldn't like Germany. That wasn't right. He shook his head quickly, rubbing his eyes, realizing they'd begun filling with tears.

_Ve…either way, it doesn't matter that much, _he thought sadly, starting slipping back to sleep. _Germany's made it pretty clear he wouldn't like me back…_

* * *

><p><em>Remember how I keep going on about each chapter getting longer? Well, I guess I really don't have to say it for this one...<em>

_Cheerier, right? Just a little bit? A little sad at the end, but still, overall pretty fluffy-ish._

_By the way, thank you all for your reviews. Over a hundred! I mean, jeez, that's a lot! New record for me at least! I love all of you guys!_


	9. Morning

Germany opened his eyes a crack, squinting through the sunlight pouring in through the open window. His first thought was, _When did my room get a window there…? _He blinked again, his eyes starting to focus.

Italy was sleeping soundly in his arms, his back pressed firmly against Germany's chest. Germany's face immediately started heating up. He swallowed nervously, slowly unwrapping his arms from around his friend. As he did, Italy rolled over, landing on Germany's shoulder. In his sleep, he murmured, "I surrender…" waving his arm as if he were holding a white flag.

Germany shut his eyes and grabbed Italy's arm, gently rolling him off. He sat up and stood slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. Then he started heading toward the door.

"…Germany…"

Germany flinched. "Listen Italy, I'm sorry but I need to get home before Prussia blows up the kitchen again—" He turned and froze. Italy was still soundly sleeping. Germany blinked in confusion and walked back over. "Italy?" He asked.

"No…" he mumbled weakly, "…I don't want to…eat any scones…" He rolled the other way. "Germany, help me …England's gonna make me eat scones…" He mumbled a little bit more and flailed back.

Germany sighed. Just like Italy to have nightmares about eating English food. He patted Italy's hair gently, then froze. His hand was still bandaged from the day before. And, strangely enough, it was the same hand that he'd pinky promised with the night before…

He sat there for a second, trying to figure out what to do. Italy mumbled his name again, squirming frantically in his sleep, as if England were trying to force feed him fish and chips. Germany rolled his eyes and lay back down next to him. "England isn't here, Italy," he said, ruffling Italy's hair. Italy gave a small "ve" and snuggled against Germany. Germany sighed and closed his eyes.

...

A few hours later, Italy sat up. "Ve~?" He mumbled sleepily.

Germany opened an eye. "Oh, you're awake," he muttered.

Italy stared at him. "Germany?" He asked slowly. "You…you stayed!" He smiled and hugged Germany tightly. "You stayed! Ve~ you're so nice Germany."

Germany blushed and rolled his eyes. "Ja, sure," he mumbled. He sat up. "I'm going to head home now."

Italy hopped to his feet. "Ve~ Germany, you don't have to leave yet! You haven't even eaten breakfast yet! Ve~ we could eat pasta for breakfast! Or pizza! Or we could even make some of your gross German food! Please Germany! Per favore!"

"No," Germany said sternly. He glanced over at Italy, who'd started pouting. He sighed. "Come on Italy, I need to get home before Prussia destroys anything." He paused. Then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "Now that I think about it…" he dialed his brother's phone number.

"Hallo?" Prussia answered sleepily.

"I'm coming home," Germany said. "Don't break anything."

Prussia paused. "Holy crap, West, are you psychic or something? I mean, seriously..."

Germany stood there silently, feeling a vein popping in his forehead. He hung up and walked toward the door. "Ja, I need to get home. Sorry."

Italy gave a disheartened "ve" and started following after him. "Okay, I guess…" he mumbled, "…say hi to Prussia for me…"

Germany nodded. "Right. Um…well, see you later."

Italy smiled and gave him a hug. "Ve~ thanks Germany," he said softly.

Germany blushed again and averted his eyes. "U-Um, ja, of course," he stammered. He reached over and patted Italy's head. "…of course…" he repeated.

Italy smiled up at him. For a split second, Germany could've sworn he saw a confused, guilt look pass across his face, but…no, he had to have imagined that. Right…?

Germany patted Italy's shoulder. Italy smiled and hugged him tighter. Germany smiled slightly back at him. Then, almost unconsciously, he leaned closer and kissed Italy's forehead.

After a second, Germany stiffened and pulled back. _Crap, why did I just do that? _He thought frantically, feeling as though his face was glowing. "U-Um well I-I should go now. A-Auf Weidersehen," he stammered. He turned and practically sprinted to his car.

Italy stood there, blinking. He started blushing slightly. Then he shook his head quickly. _No, I…I don't like Germany that way…_ he told himself. He shut his eyes, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. _I don't…right…?_

He stood there in the hallway for a little while, then walked into the next room. "Romano, are you awake?" He whispered.

Romano mumbled sleepily, "Veneziano, get out of my room…"

"But this is the living room," Italy protested.

Spain laughed. "Aw, Romano's so cute when he's sleepy!" He tousled Romano's hair happily. "So cute…!"

Romano yawned sleepily. "Shut up you bastard…" he mumbled, snuggling his head against Spain's chest. Then he stiffened. He quickly sat up, staring in horror at the Spaniard he'd fallen asleep on. He opened his mouth dumbly, then closed it.

Spain smiled up at him. "Buenos días, Roma—"

Romano kneed him in the groin. "What the hell are you doing, you bastard?" He shouted angrily, his face turning bright red. Spain gave a weak squeaking noise and pitched sideways off the couch. Romano kept shouting, "Y-You sick perverted bastard! Chigi!"

Italy grabbed Romano's arm and pulled him away before he could kick Spain. Romano glared at him. "He deserved it, damn it." He glared back at Spain, who was twitching on the ground. "Bastard."

"Romano…that hurt…" Spain managed to groan, teary-eyed. "I just didn't want to move you because you were so cute when you fell asleep…"

Romano narrowed his eyes dangerously. Spain just pouted back at him. After a few seconds, Romano sighed and helped him up. "Next time I cut something off, damn it…" he hissed. They both sat back down on the couch, Romano still grumbling under his breath.

Italy smiled and sat down next to them. Romano glanced over toward him. "So what the hell did you want Veneziano?" He asked, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

Italy's smile faded. He quickly glanced away uncomfortably. "Well I was just…I-I was…um…I…I was…" He pursed his lips, trying to think of how to word it. "Well, earlier, when Germany left…well, he…uh…he—"

"Whoa wait, what'd that Potato bastard do? Did he do something? Did he touch you? That's it, where'd my gun go."

"N-No wait, Romano!" Italy grabbed Romano's arm as he stood up to find his gun. "No, he didn't do anything. He's really a nice person!"

Romano scowled at him, sitting back down. "You have a very warped sense of the word 'nice'," he muttered. "I mean, all of your friends are crazy as shit."

"Uh, w-well, so are yours!" Italy weakly retorted.

"What's that supposed to—?"

"Romano, Romano, look, I found another turtle!" Romano looked over to see Spain smiling idiotically on the floor and holding up a small turtle. "I'm going to call him 'Señor Tortuga'!" He turned toward the turtle. "Buenos días, Señor Tortuga."

Romano stared blankly at him for a moment. Then he turned. "Still, out of all of your friends, that evil steroid-abusing German potato headed son of a bitch is the worst…"

"Ve~ he's a good person though!" Italy insisted. "He's nice, and sweet, and brave, and strong, and kind, and hansom, and—" He froze, realizing what he was saying. He turned red. "Err, I-I mean…um…I-I-I..."

Romano stared at him, looking revolted. Then he stood back up. "That's it, I am putting KNIVES in that gun, you hear me? _KNIVES, DAMN IT!_"

"W-Wait Romano, I don't—"

"_**KNIVES!**_" Romano roared, and stormed off into the next room.

Italy sighed. He glanced up at Spain, who was still smiling. "So, Italy, what was it that you wanted to ask about?"

"Um, well…" Italy glanced away, watching as his brother passed by, muttering darkly under his breath. "I was…" he trailed off, gently rubbing his forehead. "Earlier, when Germany was leaving…ve…" His face started feeling slightly hot. "I just…"

Spain laughed a bit. "Aw, you are so cute!" He got up from where he'd been sitting on the floor and sat down next to Italy, giving him a one armed hug. "You like Germany, no?"

"N-No!" Italy stammered. "I-I just…um…" He trailed off, thinking hard. "O…Or maybe I do…or…" He shook his head. "I…I don't know!"

"Found my gun," Romano stated, walking back in. He noticed Spain hugging Italy and clenched his jaw slightly. He glanced at his gun. "Maybe I should test it out on you guys…"

Spain didn't seem to notice Romano. "Oh, you know what? You should go talk to France! He's good at that kind of stuff!" He smiled proudly for his idea.

Romano stiffened. "Are you crazy?" He yelped horrified. "You know what that sick bastard will do to him?"

"Ve~ that's a great idea!" Italy said happily. (Romano face-palmed behind him.) "Big Brother France knows all kinds of things about that! Thanks!"

"Why the hell are both of you so stupid?" Romano yelled, hitting both of their heads with his gun. "Spain, are you trying to get my fratello molested?"

"What do you mean, Romano?" Spain and Italy asked innocently, smiling at him.

Romano's eye started twitching.

Spain stood up. "Here, Romano! Señor Tortuga will cheer you up!" He held the turtle in Romano's face, smiling. "¡Dile 'Hola' a Señor Tortuga!"

Romano glared at the turtle. "Hola, Señor Tortuga. Yo te voy a comer."

Spain pulled the turtle back. "Why is it that when I get you to speak Spanish, it's so hurtful…?"

* * *

><p>Germany pulled up to his house and sat in the car for a minute, banging his head against the dashboard. <em>Stupid…bescheuert…dumm…idiotisch…schwachsinnig…scheiße...<em> He rested his head there for a second. _Why? I was so close to getting it back to normal between Italy and me, why did I have to do that? Why? _He banged his head one more time against the dashboard then slowly got out of the car.

He rubbed his head, walking over to the front door. _Well, maybe I could go and apologize again. Yeah, maybe I could buy him some pasta. I'm sure that would make him happy. We could go out for pasta or…wait, that sounds kind of like a date. Maybe not. Or…maybe that would work? Oh god, what exactly would I—_

Germany tripped and fell headfirst into the door.

"Oh my god! Are you alright?" Someone yelped from the ground next to him. "I-I'm so sorry!"

Germany blinked a few times, stars flashing in front of his eyes. He rubbed his head and sat up. "W…What the…?" He looked over at the kid he'd just tripped over. He blinked a few times. "C…Canada?" He asked. "What the hell?"

Canada leapt to his feet and helped Germany up. "I am so sorry!" He apologized again. Then he paused. "Huh, you remembered my name this time. It just took me almost giving you a concussion. I guess that's how America manages to do it, eh?" He gave a nervous laugh.

Germany gave a weak smile (/grimace). "Yeah. Err…" He looked around uncomfortably. "Did you…sleep here or something?"

Canada blushed, embarrassed. "Y-Yeah, um, your brother invited me over again yesterday, but he didn't answer the door any of the times I knocked or rang, then when I gave up and started leaving it turned out America 'borrowed' my car again and by then it was starting to get dark and I couldn't find my hotel and there were these creepy guys that chased me for almost three blocks and I ended up back here and I didn't have anywhere to go so I guess I fell asleep…"

Germany blinked. "Ah," he mumbled. He coughed uncomfortably. "R…Right." He grabbed the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. "Here, you can come inside."

"Thanks…" Canada murmured, walking through the doorway.

Germany followed after him. It seemed that no matter what was happening to him, Canada was always having a worse day…

"Hey bruder!" Germany called loudly as he closed the door. "You left something on the porch."

"Right, I'm coming!" Prussia called from the kitchen. He walked into the room. "By the way, someone keeps ding dong ditching us—" He paused, noticing Canada standing next to Germany. "Hey, Canada!" He greeted. Then he froze. He looked from Canada to the door behind him and back. "Oh…r…right…" he murmured. "I'm sorry, I must've forgotten…"

"I… It's fine…" Canada mumbled, his face reddening, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. "It's fine. Not like you're the first to forget…" He pretended to fix his glasses so he could avoid eye contact.

Prussia sighed. "Ja, I'm sorry. Here, come on, I'll go get you a beer."

He led Canada into the kitchen, mouthing toward Germany, "Help me…" Germany rolled his eyes and followed them into the kitchen.

Prussia sat Canada down at the table and grabbed a few beers. "Heh…here, drink up…"

Germany noticed a tray of brownies on the counter. "Oh, you made brownies." Germany reached for the tray.

"SCHEIßE DON'T TOUCH THOSE!" Prussia yanked them away quickly. Germany just sent him a suspicious look. Prussia sighed and grabbed the card taped to the tray and handed it to Germany.

_Dearest Prussia,_

_If you continue calling my brother I will be forced to castrate you with a rusty butcher's knife._

_- Anonymous_

_P.S. There is absolutely nothing wrong with these brownies. Feel free to eat them._

Germany blinked. "Wow. Subtle, isn't she," he mumbled. He folded Belarus's card and put it down on the counter.

"Yeah, don't touch those brownies."

"Shouldn't you throw them out?"

"I'm afraid to touch them… Maybe I shouldn't prank call Russia so much."

Germany sighed and sat back down at the table. Prussia grabbed three beers and passed them out. After a few seconds, Germany said, "Hey Prussia, I used to…to have other sibling before, right…?"

Prussia nodded. "Ja! Brandenburg, Holstein, Saxony…why do you want to know?"

"Err I was just…" Germany trailed off, in the back of his mind, remembering how upset Prussia had been before. "I was just… Das macht nichts, it's not that important," he murmured, standing up. "I think I'm going to go to the library again.

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Fine. Sure. Have fun." He took a drink. "Nerd…"

Germany rolled his eyes too. "Bye." He turned and walked out.

* * *

><p><em>Señor Tortuga ~ Mr. Turtle<em>

_Dile "Hola" ~ say hello to_

_Yo te voy a comer ~ I'm going to eat you_

_Das macht nichts ~ never mind_

_The letter was supposed to be from Belarus, inreference to all the prank calls from Prussia. Just edited it. Sorry if that wasn't clear for everyone that already read before I noticed it. _

_Germany had, like, five other brothers mentioned besides Prussia, but since it's obscure as to whether they're alive, I'm just going to assume they're dead._

_This was a kind of transition chapter I guess. Hope you all like it._

_By the way, it's funnier to imagine Spain using a deep voice every time he says "Señor Tortuga"._


	10. Deus Ex Machina

Italy skipped up to France's front door, smiling happily like he always did. He had driven to France fairly quickly (mostly due to his utter disregard of speed limits) and by this point was knocking on the door. "Big Brother France, are you there?" He called.

Almost a split second later, the door was pulled open. "Italy! Bonjour!" France said happily. "'Comment vas-tu?" He grabbed Italy's arm and led him inside. "Come in!"

France's house was elegantly decorated, with French furniture and several pictures of a very angry Englishman scattered in odd places throughout the rooms. "You came all zis way to visit moi?" France asked. "Was zere a…reason for your visit…?" At that, France scooted closer to Italy, eying him greedily.

Italy nodded, not noticing France's advances. "I wanted to ask you a few questions!"

France smiled at him. "Well, you 'ave come to ze right place," he said, putting an arm around Italy's shoulders and sitting them down on the couch. "What do you need?"

"Ve~ I was wondering…" Italy blushed ever so slightly. "Well, how do you know if you like someone?"

France perked up slightly. "Ah, so you're 'aving love issues…?" He asked. "Do you need me to 'elp you with…anyzing…?" He scooted even closer.

Italy looked up innocently at him. "I don't know…" He mumbled. "…I…maybe…? I just…" Italy trailed off. "Well I…it's just that…he…my heart keeps getting really fast when he gets nearby and I get kinda nervous and…I like hanging out with him and I feel really happy when he smiles and when he hugs me and…" He started nervously kicking his feet. "I just…don't know…"

France raised his eyebrows, staring at Italy with an unreadable expression, looking slightly surprised. He leaned back, thinking. After a while, he said, "Well, it sounds as though you are in love with 'im."

Italy shook his head quickly. "N-No, that's not right. I…" He paused, still looking confused. "I…I love Holy Roman Empire."

France paused, looking closely at Italy. _Why on Earth is everyone suddenly bringing up 'oly Roman Empire all of ze sudden? _He wondered. "Italy," he said slowly, "ze 'oly Roman Empire is dead."

Italy flinched. "I-I…" He didn't finish his sentence, staring blankly at the floor.

France sighed. "Italy, 'e's dead. You 'ave to move on." For a second, France was tempted to offer his assistance with that, but he decided against it. Instead he patted Italy's shoulder. "You need to move on…" he repeated.

Italy squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "But I…don't want to," he murmured.

France shrugged. "No one ever does."

They sat there silently fir a moment. Italy sniffled slightly and wiped his face with his palm. Then Italy looked over at France. "So…that means I like him?" He asked. Then he seemed to deflate slightly. "Ve, he doesn't like me back though…"

France smiled at him. "Well zere are plenty of ways you could fix zat."

"Like what?" Italy asked.

France got closer and rubbed Italy's leg. "If you want I could always show you some…tricks," he suggested, smile growing wider.

Italy looked up at him innocently. "Ve~ Romano said that if you try any tricks I'm supposed to run away as fast as I can…" He paused, thinking hard. "I don't really understand what that means though."

"Well, I can show you if you close your eyes tightly and open your mouth…"

"Okay!" Italy did as he was told, screwing his eyes shut and opening his mouth as wide as he could. France grinned and grabbed Italy, leaning forward. Then he jumped as Italy's phone started ringing loudly. Italy looked down and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Hello!" He listened to the other line for a moment, then held it out toward France. "Ve~ it's for you!"

France frowned and grabbed the phone. "Bonjour?" He asked.

"Try it and die." Romano hung up.

France sighed. He held the phone out toward Italy, and noticed Italy had opened his mouth again. "Sacré bleu…" he mumbled, sighing again and pushing Italy's chin so his mouth closed with a clack. Just in case the Mafia was aiming a sniper at him from the window…

"Ve~?" Italy asked, looking a little confused. "Aren't you gonna help me…?"

"Non…" he replied unhappily, glancing toward the window to check if there were any gunmen.

Italy looked at the floor, looking disappointed. France looked over at him. Italy's lower lip was trembling slightly. France sighed again and put an arm over Italy's shoulders. "Well, I suppose I could give you some advice at ze least."

"Yay!" Italy cheered.

…

Germany carried a pile of books over to a table and dropped them loudly enough that several people shushed him angrily from nearby. He apologized softly and sat down. He pulled a book open and scanned a few pages. Then he scowled and shut it, grabbing the next book and pulling it open. He scanned another couple of pages, finding nothing interesting and flipping it shut.

He sighed and reached over for the next book. Nothing too interesting. Nothing that would help him understand anything more about the Holy Roman Empire.

He sighed again and tossed the next book to the side. Brothers…? Holy Roman Empire was his brother? How could that be possible? How could the kid that was ruining his life be his brother? How could he have gone all these years without knowing? He started looking through the next book. There had to be something in one of these damn history books that would explain it…

"Hey dude, watcha reading?"

Germany jumped and spun around. He looked up to find a grinning American standing behind him. He eyed the book over Germany's shoulder. "A history book?" He asked incredulously. "Why the hell are you reading a history book? You're, like…" He thought for a second. "How old are you? 'Cause I think you're old enough to not need that."

Germany sighed. "I'm looking up something from a long time ago," he replied, turning away. "What are you doing here? You don't read."

America laughed. "Yeah, we postponed the conference for a few days since you went completely insane, and then I followed Iggy in here. If you do a Cockney accent, he get's soooo pissed. It's hilarious." He laughed. "So whatcha readin' 'bout?"

"…How are you and Canada related…?"

"Who?"

"Oh bloody hell," England muttered, walking over. "You even followed me in here?"

"'ELLO GOV'NAH!" America shouted, making the entire library cringe. "WOULD YOU LIEK A CUP O' TA~Y?"

"Bloody hell, stop that! I-I sound nothing like that!" England yelled indignantly.

"Wot dew yew mean, gov'nah?" America replied, still grinning.

"Both of you be quiet!" Germany snapped. A librarian angrily shushed him, and he flinched. "Entschuldigung..." he muttered. "Sorry." He glared up at America and England. England had started glaring angrily at America, who was whistling and glancing in the opposite direction.

England finally stopped glaring at America and looked over at the open book on the table. "Why are you reading a history textbook?" He asked curiously.

Germany sighed. "I'm just looking something up," he said. He looked at the books England was carrying. "So what are you reading?" He asked.

England glanced down at the large leather bound books. "Oh these are just a few old spell books I found in the back of the library," he said, holding up a book that looked like it could've been written in Latin.

Germany rolled his eyes. "Gott, why are those ridiculous things even in here?"

England narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked.

"Nothing," Germany mumbled.

England crossed his arms. "No, no, I'm sure you meant something by that," he said. "If you want to tell me something, please, feel free to say it to my face."

Germany felt his jaw clench. He really wasn't in the mood for this. "Fine, what I meant to say was 'I do not believe in magic, it is an idiotic waste of time and it's not even remotely possible and I cannot understand how you could even think so,'" Germany replied curtly.

"Ooh, burned—"

"Shut up, America," England snapped. "And magic is real," he said, turning back toward Germany.

"Right…" He opened another book. "If you need me, I'm going to look at something that actually exists."

England reached over and slammed Germany's book shut, causing him to jump. "Are you insulting me?" England hissed.

Germany glared at him and abruptly stood up. "Are _you _insulting _me_?" He growled, his brows furrowed angrily.

"QUICK, EVERYBODY, GET IN ZE CHOPPAH!" America shouted loudly.

"America, be quiet!" England hissed.

"He's not even German," Germany snapped angrily. "And you're in a library!"

"So? What's so great about the library?" America asked, swinging his arms back and forth with a bored expression. "It's so dumb. Why have people even written so many books? Seriously…"

"Well, libraries are places where you need to be as _quiet_ as possible," Germany hissed. "So if you find it so boring, you should leave. _Now._"

America shrugged. "Whatever, dude." He turned and left. "Jeez. Ass."

England sighed. "Where on earth did I go wrong…?" He asked no one in particular. Then he turned back toward Germany. "And magic does exist! Hell, I could prove it!"

"Of course you can," Germany muttered, standing up and scooping his books into his arms. "Unfortunately, I really don't care. If you need me, I'm going to go home." He turned.

England stepped in front of him. Germany stopped. England crossed his arms and said, "Alright, I'll prove it to you!" He grabbed a book out of Germany's hand and flipped it open to the page Germany had been looking at. "Holy Roman Empire?" He asked dryly.

"Hey," Germany protested, "the things I choose to read are none of your business!" He swiped the book out of England's hands.

England smirked. "I bet you fifty Euros that I can help you find out more about that Holy Roman Empire kid with magic," he replied. Germany opened his mouth to argue, but England interrupted. "Think about it, Germany," he said. "If I'm right, you find out whatever it is you want to know about Holy Rome. If you're right, I never bring it up again and you get the pleasure of humiliating me." He held out his hand. "So what do you say?"

Germany opened his mouth to say no, then paused. There really wasn't a reason he needed to say no. It couldn't hurt. And maybe he could finally get England to stop talking to himself and going on about magic. "Fine," he replied.

England's smirk grew wider as they shook hands. "Great. Now I'll have enough money to buy that new suit…"

…

Italy held the bouquet of roses close to his chest as he nervously walked up to Germany's door. He took a deep breath. Then he knocked softly on the door.

It was silent far a minute. Italy started shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Was Germany not there? Could Germany see him and just didn't want to talk to him? He rang the doorbell and waited a little longer, nervously looking over toward the window.

The door swung open. "Hey Italy!" Prussia shouted gleefully, stumbling forward and putting an arm around Italy's shoulders. "You…you…how're ya' doin' Italy?" He managed to say, pinching Italy's cheeks. "Aw you are just adorable!"

"P-Prussia are you okay?" Italy asked nervously.

"H-Hey Prussia who…who're ya' talkin' to?" Someone slurred from inside.

"I-I'm just saying hi to my lil' buddy Italy!" He called back, hugging Italy tightly around the neck. Italy yelped slightly and tried to pry his arms off. Prussia turned back toward Italy. "H-Hi Italy!" He stammered, grinning.

Someone stumbled over next to Prussia, a pair of glasses hanging crookedly off his face. "Oh, hey there Italy!" He said, reaching out and drunkenly patted his head.

"I-I, um, who're—?"

Prussia interrupted him. "H-Hey, so Italy, what's up? You here to see West?" Prussia started giggling. "Kesese, yeah, you're always here to see West. W-Well he's a nerd so he left and was all like 'I'm goin to the l-libarry and read and shit', y'know? So he's gone and I-I'mma drink some more." He reached over and pulled a beer from Canada's hoodie.

Canada started laughing. "That was mine! Gimme!" They started swatting at each other.

"Um…S-So Germany isn't here?" Italy asked.

Prussia looked up at him. "Nein, b-but I can tell 'em that you were here if my liver doesn't implode 'c-cause y'know my liver is probably gonna be dead." He hiccupped. "Y-Y'know we should…w-we should soooo~ do it! Kesese." He turned and hugged Canada. "We should, y'know?" He hiccupped again.

Canada started laughing hysterically.

Italy took a nervous step back, clutching the roses to his chest tightly. "Ve~ I guess I'll go and look for him then. Bye."

"Auf wefrenufeszan," Prussia mumbled, waving at the tree next to Italy.

Italy started heading toward the library, holding the flowers to his chest and humming happily. When he got there, he noticed a familiar face outside of the building, with a cell phone pressed to his ear. "For the last time, Tony, if you keep playing E.T. loud enough to burst my eardrums I'll seriously _shoot _that damn stereo!" America was saying. "Seriously, do you know how annoying…"

"America?" Italy asked curiously. "Ciao!"

America glanced up. "Sorry, Tony, give me a sec." He held his hand over his phone receiver. "Hey Italy. If you were looking for Germany, he and England just left, like, an hour ago. Or, like, thirty minutes. My watch broke." He paused. "Wait, I don't own a watch. Damn."

"How did you know I was looking for Germany?"

America rolled his eyes. "Who else would you be giving flowers?" He asked.

"Ve~ the flowers were France's idea!" Italy told him. "He gave me all kinds of good advice! I'm supposed to give him roses and then I'm supposed to kiss with my tongue." He smiled happily. "I don't understand how to do that though."

"Uh…" America gave him an uncomfortable thumbs-up. "Err, you have fun with that," he muttered. He put the phone back to his ear as Italy skipped off. "Yeah I'm still here." He scowled. "No, 'I Kissed a Girl' is not any better!"

…

"I feel ridiculous," Germany muttered darkly, kicking at the strange circle England had drawn in chalk on the floor of the building they were standing in. "This is completely idiotic."

"Stop kicking it." England finished up the drawing and stood up.

Germany rolled his eyes. "Right. Of course. So what the hell is it that you're trying to do again?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure this will let us be able to see into the past." He picked up his spell book. "Or…something…close to that I presume…"

Germany stiffened slightly. "So you're not sure what you're doing?" He asked incredulously, glancing over toward the door.

England glanced up at him from the book. "Well, I haven't actually used this spell before." He smirked. "Then again, if you leave right now that means you concede that magic does exist, that you are nervous, and that you would owe me fifty Euros." He held out his hand.

Germany sighed. "Right. Fine. Go ahead. I guess…"

England started looking over the book. "Alright, just give me a second to double check that I did everything alright," he murmured, looking closely at the ground.

Germany sighed and started glancing around. _This is the stupidest thing I have ever agreed to do, _he thought bitterly. He shut his eyes. _What if it does work, though? What would it accomplish? What information could it possibly give me that I don't already know?_

He took a deep breath. _All I really want to do is double check on what Prussia said… _he told himself. Thenhe shook his head quickly. _Nein, this is ridiculous. I should just leave. This is absolutely pointless. _He turned around to leave.

England started murmuring something. Germany paused and looked over his shoulder. "England, I'm sorry, but I think I should be going…" England ignored him and continued chanting the spell from the book. Germany walked over. "England, you can stop now…" He trailed off, glancing down at the circle. Did it just…change color…? He shook his head. "England, listen I really need to—"

The circle beneath them started glowing. Germany froze and looked down. "W-What the hell?" He yelped, stepping back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed England smirk at him. He looked up quickly. "A-Alright, I believe you I guess—w-what're you doing? Stop!"

The circle glowed brighter. Germany started feeling almost weightless. Germany swore and reached forward to grab England's throat.

The door opened. "Ve~ there you are Germany!"

Germany stiffened and turned around, to see Italy walking over with a ridiculously large bouquet in his arms. "I-I brought you some flowers—"

"Italy, what the hell are you doing here?" Germany shouted. Italy paused, standing just inside of the circle. Germany froze. "Wait, Italy, get the hell out of here!" Germany yelled.

Italy looked at the ground. "I-I'm sorry, Germany."

"Damn it Italy you're not listening to—"

There was a blinding flash. And then, nothing…

* * *

><p><em>And Iggy comes to save the day!<em>

_And/Or make it worse._

_The title is latin for "God from the machine". It's kind of a term used when someone pops out of nowhere with all the answers. Or in Iggy's case, more problems. Huh._

_And my brother made me listen to ET seven times, and Tony popped into my head..._

_Thanks Crimsontrick for the help with the French. Comment vas-tu means how are you._

_Not sure how many people pay enough attention to notice that I usually post every three days, but I'm going out of town for the weekend, so the next chapter is going to be a little later than usual. See you guys then!_


	11. England's Bad Idea

Germany groaned, reaching up and rubbing his pounding head gingerly. _Son of a bitch, _he thought hazily, _what the hell happened? It feels like I fell asleep on the ground._ He rolled onto his back, flinching slightly as pain shot through his spine. He felt someone prodding his face. "Prussia, I don't want any beer…" he mumbled weakly, swatting at the air. "Go away…"

'Prussia' made an annoyed squeaking noise and tapped an acorn against Germany's forehead.

Germany stiffened and opened his eyes, staring at the squirrel sitting on his face. He blinked. Then he started swearing and leapt to his feet, swatting wildly at his face. The squirrel jumped away and made a few more indignant squeaks before he ran off.

Germany swore again and looked around. He was standing in the middle of the woods, with the leaves overhead causing the dappled light on the ground to shift with the wind. Germany stared down at them blankly, wondering vaguely how he ended up asleep in a forest.

Then he noticed England lying sprawled unconscious across the ground nearby. And then he remembered.

Germany swore and walked over. "England, wake the hell up," he growled, bending down and roughly pulling England to his feet by the hair.

England yelped and stumbled forward, grabbing tightly onto Germany's arm. "B-Bloody hell," he stammered, "why is everyone spinning?"

Germany pushed him off and he fell back onto the ground with a loud thud. "Oww," he moaned. "What the hell was that for?" He looked around dizzily for a second. "Has my shirt always been blue…?" He mumbled. Then he rubbed his head. "Why are we in the woods?"

Germany glared at him. "You tell me," he hissed furiously. "What the hell did you do?"

England frowned and looked around. "Well, I'm not entirely sure," he replied weakly. "I might have drawn the circle wrong, and we teleported us somewhere." He struggled to his feet. "Give me a second, my phone has a GPS in it," he murmured, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

Germany sighed unhappily. Great. No closer to learning anything important, they were lost in the woods, _and _England managed to prove him wrong. The only thing that would make it worse would be if Italy had teleported with them—

"G-Germany! Help me!"

Germany froze. He looked up, seeing a familiar Italian flailing helplessly from a tree, his shirt caught in a large twisting branch directly above Germany. "G-Germany!" He wailed weakly, looking close to tears.

Germany took a deep breath. "Best day ever…" he mumbled sarcastically, climbing up into the tree next to Italy. "How the hell did you even get in a tree?" He asked darkly.

"Ve~ I don't know," Italy mumbled as Germany untangled Italy's shirt from the tree. "I just woke up and I was up here…" he trailed off, looking down and blanching slightly. "W-We're really high up…" he stammered nervously.

Germany sighed and grabbed Italy's arm and started half carrying him out of the tree. "Come on," he muttered.

Italy smiled shyly at him. Then a thought crossed his mind. "Oh, Germany, I bought you some—" He froze. He looked down at his arms, realizing that there wasn't a bouquet in them anymore. He stood there for a second, not even noticing he was back on the ground. Then he laughed nervously. "U-Um one second…" he mumbled, walking away and looking frantically though the bushes.

Germany rolled his eyes. "Sure thing," he replied. He turned back toward England, who was angrily tapping the screen of his Smart-Phone. "So where are we?" Germany asked.

"Bloody phone doesn't have any service," England muttered unhappily, shaking the phone. "I can't get this damn GPS thing working. What the hell is the point of all these new phones and satellites if they can't bloody do anything?" He shoved the phone unhappily in his pocket. "Well, we can't have gone too far or else I would be close to passing out—" He fell forward and landed face first on the ground. "Bloody hell, stop spinning!"

Germany sighed. "Great…"

Italy walked back over from the bushes he'd been searching though. "Germany, can you help me? I-I dropped—"

"Italy now is not the time for any more of your harebrained schemes!" Germany snapped.

Italy flinched. "…I…s-sorry," he mumbled, slinking away miserably.

Germany sighed. "I'm sorry Italy," he said. "I just…" he trailed off as Italy disappeared in the bushes. He sighed and turned back toward England, grabbing his arm and helping him up. "Alright, get us back home as soon as you feel better."

England nodded weakly. "Right. Just give me a minute or two," he replied sleepily. He sat down against a tree and took a deep breath. "Oh, and by the way, you now owe me fifty Euros."

"…G…Germany…"

"Not now Italy," Germany muttered, turning back toward England. "And no I don't. The terms of the deal were that you helped me get more information using magic. So far, all you've accomplished is getting us lost and me attacked by a squirrel. I don't think either event constitutes as—"

"…Germany…!"

"Italy, not now," Germany snapped, starting to get annoyed.

England sighed. "Right. Well anyway, give me a minute, I need to redraw the circle and figure out what I drew wrong and figure out our coordinates and—"

"Germany!"

Germany sighed. "Italy, I'm busy! What do you—?" He turned and froze, noticing the scared look on Italy's face. "Italy, is something wrong?"

Italy nodded slightly, grabbing Germany's arm and tugging him toward the bushes. Germany hesitantly followed after him, glancing nervously toward England, who was walking after them with a slightly amused look. Finally Germany said, "Italy, just explain to me what the hell—"

Italy stopped walking, standing behind a clump of trees. He turned toward Germany. "Look," he whispered.

Germany frowned and peaked around the trees. His jaw dropped.

They'd come to a cleared area, a dirt road stretching past. And walking down the road was what appeared to be an entire army, stretching on in either direction. All of the soldiers were dressed in chain mail and shining armor, and were carrying large swords in sheathes around their waists.

Germany gaped at them. "M-Mein Gott…what on earth…?" He murmured.

England blinked a few times. "Uh…maybe there's a medieval fair somewhere nearby?" He suggested nervously.

Germany glared at him, then froze. He turned toward the army, then back toward England. Then he grabbed the front of England's shirt. "What…the…hell…did…you…_do_…" he growled.

England yelped. "W-What the hell are you talking—?" He stiffened, glancing over at the soldiers walking several hundred meters away. "Oh god…" England murmured, his eyes getting wide, "y-you don't think…that we're…" he trailed off.

"Ve~ that we're what?" Italy asked nervously, looking back and forth from Germany to England.

Germany turned toward him. "England was trying to find a way to let me see something that happened in the past."

Italy looked blankly at him. "Huh…?"

Germany sighed. "Come on, Italy, think hard."

Italy pursed his lips, thinking. Then his eyes lit up. "Oh I get it!" He turned and strode out of the woods and over to the soldiers. "Excuse me!" He called. "Do you know what day it is today?"

The soldiers passing by slowed down to stare at him. "Um, what?" One of the soldiers asked, looking slightly confused.

Germany and England both grabbed his throat and pulled him back. "You wanker! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" England growled. "Haven't you ever seen any of those obnoxious movies America made? If you so much as kill a single butterfly we could end up being ruled by demon apes or some other ridiculous scenario!"

"Ve~ there aren't any butterflies…"

"It's a metaphor you bloody moron!" England hissed. "Messing with even a butterfly could create a time paradox and change the future. And guess what. _That is a more than a f***ing butterfly._"

Italy looked down. "Oh."

The soldiers watched them as they argued. Some looked bemused but most looked uncomfortable. One of the soldiers asked, "Why the hell are you dressed so weird?"

Italy looked up, then down at the outfit he was wearing. "It's not that weird of an outfit!" Italy protested.

Germany glared at him. "We're sorry to disturb you," he murmured. "Come on, let's get out of here." He tugged Italy's arm and started pulling him away.

Italy waved at the soldiers. "Ciao!" He called. Then he asked, "Wait, where are you guys going?"

Another soldier grinned. "We're the Army of the Holy Roman Empire!" He answered. "We're heading off to war!"

Germany felt Italy stiffen. "You're…" Italy trailed off, staring blankly at the soldier. "W…What…?"

Next to him Germany cringed. "Oh Gott…" he murmured. He turned and looked at Italy. "Italy, listen, we should head back—"

Italy pulled his arm away from Germany. Then he sprinted away, past all of the confused looking soldiers walking toward them, and down the dirt road.

Germany and England froze. Then they ran after him. "Italy!" They shouted. "Italy, stop! We need to leave! This is a bad idea! We need to get out of here! _Italy!_" Italy was starting to get farther away. Germany clenched his jaw and sprinted harder. He'd never seen Italy run this fast, not when they trained, not when he was getting pasta, not even when he was running away. No, he only ran this fast when he was running toward the Holy Roman Empire…

They ran for what must've been ten miles. Germany was starting to feel tired. England had collapsed several miles back, so now it was just Germany and Italy. Germany couldn't even tell if Italy was getting tired yet. Usually Italy would've stopped after a minute. He'd get tired after a second and start complaining about how tired he was, then lay down and start begging Germany to get him pasta.

Germany snapped out of his thoughts when Italy turned a bend in the road and skidded to a stop. Germany sprinted up next to him and doubled over, panting. "I-Italy, w-what the hell…do you think you're…doing?" He gasped. He looked up, then froze.

There was a large house in front of them. It was surrounded by a large stone wall, but Germany could see the roof of the house over the top. The last few soldiers were all streaming out from the large gate in the wall. Germany stared at it for a moment. Then he saw Italy run forward again. "Italy, wait!" He called. "Italy, you can't just—"

Italy ignored him and jumped at the wall. He grabbed the stones and started scaling the wall. Germany stared at him for a moment, stunned, then sighed. "Why the hell can't you be this motivated during training?" He asked, and started climbing up after him.

Italy reached the top and looked over the edge, staring at the people walking below. Germany reached the top only a little after Italy. Germany looked over at him for a second. He seemed tired, but for once hadn't made a single complaint. Germany shut his eyes. Germany would always do the same for Italy in a heartbeat. _I guess that's what love is all about, _he thought.

Germany turned and looked down at the ground. He looked closely at the people. They weren't too high up; he could still see all the people below them. He frowned, scanning the soldiers still walking around. Which one was Holy Roman Empire? Was he that person in the dented armor? Was he that guy twirling his spear like a baton? Was he the guy leaving? Was he—?

Then Germany saw him. A small boy, who looked like he couldn't be more than seven, walking toward them and talking with one of the soldiers. He was wearing a large dark colored hat, with blond sideburns and bright blue eyes. He was holding what looked like a painting in his arms. He looked like he was only three feet tall.

Germany stared at him. He had to admit, the resemblance was uncanny. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought he was a younger version of himself. Germany watched as a soldier looked over at the painting, and Holy Roman Empire started blushing and held it away, making some sort of protest that Germany could only guess at.

Germany rubbed his head. Holy Roman Empire was just a child. Germany hadn't really thought about that too much. He'd always imagined him closer to his age. Almost like a dark reflection of himself, one only there to prevent him from being with Italy. But he was just a little kid that died long before his time. For the first time since learning about the Holy Roman Empire, he looked at the kid with pity.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Italy staring stiffly at the boy he hadn't seen in several hundred years. It really wasn't fair. Not to any of them…

"Holy Rome!"

Germany looked up to see another kid running across the grass, a little girl carrying a broom that seemed almost bigger than she was. She was wearing a long green dress, a white apron, a white head scarf, and a big smile.

And there was a small hair curl protruding awkwardly from the side of her head.

Germany blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he turned toward Italy. "H-Hey Italy…" he said slowly.

Italy jumped slightly, like he'd forgotten that Germany had followed him. He looked over. "Oh, Germany…what's wrong?" He asked quietly, looking back toward Holy Roman Empire.

Germany gave a nervous cough. "J-Ja, well, I-I um…" he looked back over at the two children talking below them, staring at the dress. "I-Is that you?" He asked.

Italy nodded. "Yeah," he answered softly, without so much as looking over.

"You…you are a…a guy, right?" Germany managed to ask after a moment, his eyes still fixed blankly on the dress. "You…were…were…always a…guy…r…right…?"

Italy glanced over at him and giggled slightly. "Uh huh!" He answered. "That's Hungary's dress! She let me wear it when I was younger because she thought I looked adorable in it!" He smiled at Germany.

Germany rolled his eyes. "Of course she did," he answered dryly.

Italy looked slightly crestfallen. "You don't like it…?" He asked, looking upset.

"O-Oh, n-nein you look, uh, cute—" he stammered, then cringed. "I-I mean you look…err…you…" he mumbled incoherently and glanced away, feeling his face turning red again.

"Ve~ Germany is so nice!" Italy said, leaning against Germany, wrapping an arm around his. Germany stiffened and muttered a weak, "You're welcome," before turning away to hide his face.

"No, no don't worry about me, you bloody arseholes!" England sputtered angrily as he clambered up the wall next to the other two. His hair was dirty and his clothes were torn and muddy. "I'm perfectly fine! Just go ahead and bloody leave me on the side of the road! I don't mind in the least bit!"

Germany scowled at him. "England, now is really not the time for whatever—"

Italy stiffened, clenching his hands tightly around Germany's arm. Germany looked over. Italy was staring down at the people below them. Germany followed his field of vision, then froze.

Holy Roman Empire had taken Italy's broom. He said something softly. Germany squinted, trying to make out what he was saying. Then Holy Rome nervously leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against Italy's.

Germany felt his stomach clenching. He swallowed and abruptly turned away. He could see Italy out of the corner of his eye staring at the two of them, his lower lip trembling ever so slightly. Next to him, he heard England murmur, "What the hell are we looking at?"

Holy Roman Empire turned and started walking away, smiling sadly, his face tinted a slight red. Germany could hear the younger Italy yelling goodbye, saying something about making chocolate for him when he got back. Germany couldn't help but look away again. Because Holy Rome wasn't coming back…

They watched as Holy Rome and the last several soldiers pass beneath them and begin heading off to a war most of them would never return from. Germany stared at them. Was this the war that Holy Rome was killed in?

He saw Italy start climbing down. Germany turned toward him, feeling confused for a moment. Then he understood. "W-Wait, Italy, don't!" He hissed, swiftly descending next to him. He landed on the ground and grabbed Italy's shoulder as he began walking toward the Holy Roman Empire.

Italy stood there, staring at the boy walking away from that spot forever. "Germany, I never see him again," he whispered. "I'll…"

Germany nodded slowly. "I know…" He trailed off, wishing desperately that he knew a way to comfort his friend. Instead, he turned toward England. "We probably should go home now," he said gruffly. "Uh, thank you for your help. Danke. I'll get your money to you when we get back."

England smirked. "Ha. Told you," he bragged, flipping open his book and bending down to begin redrawing the circle. "…well then, I can make it simpler now that we've already…" he mumbled a little to himself as he drew.

Germany sighed. Fifty Euros down the drain… He looked over at Italy, who was still staring down the path. The army was out of sight now. "Italy…" Germany said softly, grabbing Italy's shoulder, "…we're leaving now."

Italy stood there for a second. Then he turned, forcing a pained-looking smile. "I-I know…" he replied weakly. "Ve…"

Germany sighed. Even his 've'ing sounded strained. "Listen, Italy…"

"Finished!" England exclaimed. He turned toward the others. "Now be sure to step into the circle." Germany sighed and did as he was told, pulling Italy next to him. "Good!" England said. Then he turned back toward his book and started chanting.

Germany shut his eyes as the circle beneath him began glowing ominously yet again. It might exist, but he still really did not like magic at all. He quickly glanced at Italy again, to make sure he was alright.

Italy was still staring down the road, tears welling up in his eyes. Germany flinched and quickly turned away. There was another bright flash of light, and as they disappeared, Germany swore he heard _"I'll always love you, Holy Rome…"_

* * *

><p><em>Sorry that took so long. And I know you all missed me...<em>

_Danke ~ thanks._

_Italy was such a cute (cough cough feminine cough) child, wasn't he? Just adorable..._

_Btw that squirrel is named Steven. He's throughout many of my stories...just because..._

_See you guys soon!_

_And everyone, thanks for all the help with the different languages. I speak English and a little Spanish, so every helpful comment with about my botched up (insert language here) is greatly appreciated._


	12. Passing Through

"Damn it, England!" Germany yelled angrily as he and England stumbled forward, still standing in the middle of a forest. It was a different forest, with thicker and taller trees, but they still weren't home.

England fell forward onto his knees, panting slightly. "Sorry," he answered. "That used a lot more magic than I thought. But hell, we're all conscious this time so stop complaining." He took a deep breath. "I'm exhausted. I might need a minute or two to catch my breath." He clambered back to his feet. "Hey, wasn't there an Italian with us?"

Germany looked around, a pit forming in his stomach. Then he started calling, "Italy? Italy!"

"Ve, Germany!"

Germany cringed and sighed, looking up at the Italian caught in a tree above them, dangling helplessly. "Why the hell do you keep getting stuck in trees?" Germany asked, climbing into the tree again.

Italy shrugged. "I-I don't know!" He whined weakly as Germany pulled him out of the tree.

"He's probably just really light or something," England said, trying to dust off his clothes. "Damn, I'm really going to need that new suit…"

Germany sighed. "So do either of you know where and or when we are?" He asked, looking around.

"Maybe we're in the future!" Italy suggested. Then he looked around. "Aw, America told me that the Flying Spaghetti Monster would've descended by now…"

England rolled his eyes. "I figured we'd all be dead by then…" He murmured, looking around. "Or at least have working cell phones," he added, checking his phone. "And anyway, I don't think that I'd be able to get us too far into the future."

Germany nodded. "Probably not. Well either way, we should try to find someone around to figure out what's happening." He turned and started walking through the trees. "Come on, we can't just be in the middle of nowhere."

The three of them walked silently between the trees, all looking around silently. After several minutes, they started to hear people loudly chatting from somewhere nearby. They quietly crept forward and peaked slowly around the trees. There was a large group of soldiers walking down the dirt road, all talking loudly.

Germany frowned. They were wearing slightly different uniforms than the Holy Roman Empire's army. He wasn't completely sure whose army they were. He looked closely, trying to pick out anyone he recognized.

He could see someone walking ahead of the others, talking louder than the rest of them. He was wearing a familiar small dark colored hat crooked on his head. Was that the Holy Roman Empire…? Germany couldn't hear what he was saying, so he slid through the trees to maybe get a better chance of hearing the conversation.

"So anyway," the guy was saying, "he kept going on and on about all that 'mighty empire' shit and hell you would not believe how obnoxious that kid can be when he opens his mouth. Seriously, his voice is like…I don't know, something horrible. So I got bored and decided to hit him in the face, then I just grabbed the hat and broom and ran like hell." He laughed. "It was awesome! Kesesese!"

Germany froze. Italy walked into his back then looked up at Germany, confused. Then Germany started walking forward quickly to catch up with the soldiers.

Prussia held the tiny broom into the air, twirling it like a baton and whistling tunelessly. One of the soldiers nearby spoke up nervously. "Uh, s-sir, should you be t-twirling that broom like that…?" He asked.

Prussia just laughed. "You see, whatever-it-is-your-name-is, when you're as awesome as I am, you could do anything you want!" He flipped the broom into the air then caught it again. "Course, you'll never be _that_ awesome, but no sense in not aspiring to greatness—"

"_PRUSSIA!_"

Both Italy and Germany spun around at the sound of that voice.

Prussia just glanced over his shoulder. "Hey there, bruder," he called with a smirk. "I love this hat! It's awesome! Kese—"

"Give me back my stuff," Holy Roman Empire demanded, running up to his brother, a reddish mark on the side of his face where Germany could only assume Prussia had smacked him. His blond hair was disheveled and his clothes were dirty. He looked like he'd maybe grown a few centimeters since they'd last seen him. How long had it been?

Prussia feigned surprise. "Huh? I would've thought the 'mighty' Holy Rome would've been able to get his things back by himself!"

Germany could see Holy Rome's face reddening in anger and embarrassment. "Prussia…" he said threateningly.

Prussia just snickered. Then he held the broom high in the air. "Come on, shouldn't the 'great and powerful' Holy Roman Empire be tall enough to get his things back?" He asked. He lowered the broom toward Holy Rome, then jerked it away as he jumped at it. Prussia inspected the broom. "You know, the Awesome Me has decided he wants to keep this," he decided.

Holy Rome glared at Prussia. "No, it's mine! Give me back my broom!" He shouted, jumping at it again, only able to get slightly off the ground.

Prussia's smirk just grew wider. "This is a broom?" He asked smugly. "I thought it was a twig you picked up off the ground. I could probably just snap it with my thumb!" He made a motion as if he were going to snap the broom.

Holy Roman Empire's eyes widened. "Prussia I swear to god—!"

Prussia just laughed. "Kesese what the hell are you planning on doing about it—?"

Holy Rome launched himself at Prussia and punched him angrily in the groin. Even Germany cringed as Prussia gave a surprised yelp and doubled over. But before Prussia could do anything else, Holy Rome had spun around and roundhouse-kicked the back of his knee. As Prussia hit the ground painfully, Holy Roman Empire grabbed his hat and his broom and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, shouting something loudly in Latin.

Prussia shakily stood back up. "When I get my hands around your scrawny little throat—!" He screamed as he hobbled after him.

Germany stared as Holy Rome darted past all the soldiers. The boy was brave, but very stupid. Prussia looked completely homicidal. He was still shouting profanities as he chased Holy Rome past the rest of the soldiers, who'd noticed the commotion and realized that they should start setting up camp for the night.

Germany, Italy, and England watched the fight for a minute, unsure of what to do, until finally Prussia caught up to Holy Rome and wrestled him to the ground. It was obvious which of the two of them were stronger. "You little arschloch!" Prussia shouted.

"Get off of me!" Holy Rome yelled back.

"Nein! Give me the broom!"

"No! It's mine!"

"Fine! Then go clean the latrines!"

Holy Rome blinked. "What?"

"You heard me! You have a broom! Go clean the latrines!"

"We don't have latrines!"

"Then go make one!"

"How the heck do you propose I do that?"

Prussia pointed at a random soldier. "You! Go shit in that bush and make him clean it up!"

Holy Roman Empire squirmed away from Prussia. "No! I'm not doing anything like that with Italy's broom! That's idiotic and disgusting!"

Prussia smirked. "And who might Italy be…?" He asked.

"Uh…" Holy Rome turned red and looked away, hugging the broom defensively. "O-Oh, n-no one really—"

"Oh mein Gott, you got a girlfriend?" Prussia started laughing hysterically.

"N-No I—it's not like—she doesn't—STOP LAUGHING!" Holy Rome stammered, turning even redder as Prussia's hysterics got louder.

Germany heard Italy laugh weakly from next to him. He looked over. "What?" He asked.

Italy shrugged. "Holy Rome…he thought I was a girl…" He laughed again slightly. "…I guess I'd never really thought about that…" He gave another weak laugh. "I-I wonder if he would've liked me if he'd known…" He looked back over toward Holy Rome, who'd started talking with some of the soldiers. Italy looked almost like he was going to cry.

Germany frowned at him. "Don't think that way," he insisted, patting Italy's shoulder. "You're…" he trailed off, trying to think of something comforting to say. "You are a…a wonderful person and I'm…sure he'd like you either gender…" He trailed off lamely, realizing how stupid he sounded.

Italy didn't seem to notice. "Ve~ you're so nice Germany," he said with a smile, hugging Germany. "You're my best friend ever!"

"Yay," Germany replied dryly. He heard England snicker. He glared at him. "What's so funny?" He growled.

England just looked at him. "Nothing, nothing…" He stifled more laughter. "So are you planning on writing romantic poetry for your wedding vows?"

Germany made as if to strangle him, then froze. Holy Roman Empire was staring directly toward the clump of foliage they were hiding behind, looking suspicious. He stood there for a moment, scanning the trees intently. Then a soldier walked over. "Is something wrong?"

He looked up. "No, I just thought I saw something," he replied. "It's nothing." He started walking away.

Germany let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "England, we need to get out of here." He turned toward England. "I don't care if you can't get us back to our normal time, but it'd be dangerous if the Holy Roman Empire found us."

England sighed, "Probably not." He bent down and started drawing another circle.

Italy sighed and watched Holy Rome walking by again. He wondered what life would've been like if he'd come home. Would they still be together? Would he not have liked Italy if he knew he was a boy? Would Italy have still become friends with Germany? At that last thought, he looked over at Germany, suddenly feeling scared. _I hope we would've… _he thought.

"Hey Prussia?"

Germany and Italy both looked over at Holy Rome, who'd walked over to Prussia. Prussia glanced up with an annoyed glare. "What do you want?" He asked.

"Well I…" Holy Rome trailed off, looking down. "I just…I wanted to ask you a question."

Prussia gave him another annoyed look. Then his eyes widened in horror. He jumped back. "Nein! I'm not having this conversation with you!" He shouted. "Babies come from storks, you hear me? Storks and nothing else!"

Holy Rome blinked. "I wasn't going to ask you about babies."

Prussia froze. "Oh," he mumbled lamely. "Well, uh, good. Glad we had this conversation." He gave Holy Rome an awkward pat on the head and roughly shoved him away. "Go back to whatever unawesome scheiße you do with your life."

"B-But I—"

"Gott, what do you want?" Prussia griped.

"I just…" He looked down, unable to meet his brother's eyes. "Can people like us…can we die in wars?" He asked.

Prussia stared at him for a second. Then he smirked. "Why? You scared?"

"N-No!" Holy Rome protested. "I just…"

Prussia sighed. "Well yeah, we can die in a battle, but it takes a lot more that what it'd take a normal person to—"

_**SNAP**_

Everyone froze. Holy Rome and Prussia looked up, straight toward where the three had been hiding, all of whom were staring blankly at the stick Italy had just stepped on. "I-I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking slightly. "I-I didn't mean to…"

"Hey, is someone over there?" Prussia called apprehensively, walking toward them.

"S-Scheiße," Germany stammered. "England, let's go."

"We won't get far—"

"Let's go, England!"

"Right," England replied. He started quickly chanting. As Holy Rome and Prussia reached them, there was a large flash of light.

Prussia blinked a few times, trying to clear his spotting vision. He looked around. "The hell was that?" He wondered. Then he looked up and grinned. "Kesese, it was just a bird!" He decided.

"I don't think…" Holy Rome paused, then glanced around, ignoring the bird that his brother had just picked up. "I thought I just saw…" He shook his head. "Let's get going."

* * *

><p>\\/\\/\

* * *

><p>Germany realized something was wrong when he heard screaming. He landed on his side with a painful thud, hissing as his head hit the ground and everything flashed white. He grabbed his head and looked up.<p>

Lying in front of him was a soldier, shouting something Germany could only guess at, grabbing tightly to a long rifle with a bayonet attached. There was a loud explosion and Germany couldn't see. He heard more shouting. He rolled onto his back. Suddenly, a soldier stumbled over him, stepping painfully on his stomach, then whipped out a rifle and fired.

Germany stared blankly at the man, then scrambled to his feet. They were in the middle of a battlefield. He heard cannon fire and there was an explosion nearby.

"DAMN IT ENGLAND!" He swore loudly. He ducked past several more soldiers, trying to find where the other two went. Another explosion and he felt debris hitting his face. He cringed and shut his eyes.

He tripped and fell, landing in the mud. He looked up to see England lying on the ground. England glanced up at him. "Whoops," he managed to say. "Sorry about that." Then he started coughing violently.

Germany scowled and pulled England to his feet. "We need to get a safe distance!" He shouted over the screaming and gunfire. "Where the hell is Italy?"

"GEERMAANYY!"

Germany looked up to see a panicking Italian sprinting across the battlefield, screaming and waving a white flag. Several soldiers on either side paused, trying to figure out what side was surrendering. Then there were several gunshots and Italy hit the ground, ducking his head under his hands.

Germany knocked several soldiers angrily out of the way and ran over, grabbing the back of Italy's shirt and yanking him into the air. He turned and ran back toward England and roughly grabbed his arm. Then he ran for cover in some trees at the edge of the battle field.

The three stood there for a moment, gasping. "W-Well, wasn't expecting that," England murmured. "And I don't think I have enough energy to move, let alone get us anywhere." At that, his legs gave out and he slumped against a tree.

Germany sighed. "Well, we should be at a safe enough distance for now. And it's almost nightfall," he added, looking up at the faded sky. "They won't fight past sunset."

Italy leaned against Germany. "T-They ruined my flag," he stammered, holding up the white flag now riddled with holes.

Germany rolled his eyes and patted Italy's head. "Well, at least you're not full of holes."

Italy gave a terrified squeak and shrunk back. Germany rolled his eyes again and glanced back toward the fighting. He wondered who was fighting, what war it was. He frowned. "Italy, stay here," he said, then began climbing into the nearest tree. They were far enough away that he didn't need to worry about getting hurt.

He sat down on a branch thick enough to hold him and started trying to see if there was anyone he recognized. It was hard to tell what was happening.

"Germany…"

Germany jumped and turned. "Italy, verdammt, I told you to stay put!" He snapped as Italy climbed up next to him.

"Germany, I can see Prussia from here." Italy pointed toward the battle. Germany turned, seeing his brother standing only a short distance away, grabbing a large gash in his arm. Oddly enough, he was laughing as one of the soldiers tried to pull him away. "What, you think a puny little scratch is gonna stop the Awesome Me?" He asked, then swung his rifle one-handed and fired, grinning as someone on the other line crumpled. "Kesese—!"

Another large explosion. Germany and Italy both flinched. This one sent Prussia flying forward, landing face first in the dirt and flipping over. He swore and sat up, grabbing a new gash on his neck. "Hurensohn," he swore angrily, staggering to his feet. He stumbled forward, trying to aim his gun, then fell, letting out a long stream of expletives that would've made Romano cringe.

Germany shut his eyes. Of course Prussia survives whatever fight this is, but even for a nation, that looked pretty painful…

"Prussia!"

Germany's eyes shot open. A familiar boy had grabbed Prussia's arm. He was almost as tall as Prussia by now, looking maybe twelve, and had abandoned the hat and cape Germany kept seeing him in, but it was unmistakable who he was. "Prussia, are you okay?" Holy Rome asked.

Prussia looked up at him. "What're you doing?" He asked, looking almost angry. "Don't worry about me! Get back to the fight!"

"What?" Holy Rome looked out at the battlefield, looking nervous. "B-But shouldn't we—"

Prussia grabbed his arm. "We need to win this fight!" He shouted. "I'm hurt! _You _need to keep up the fighting! I'm not losing this battle, you hear me?"

Holy Rome swallowed. "R-Right, okay." He turned toward some other soldiers. "Get him out of here!" He looked around. "U-Um, you guys, come with me! You, head around east and cut them off!"

Germany stared as Holy Rome turned and ran through the battlefield. He was probably the youngest one there, at least physically. There was no way he would be able to do anything. Germany could tell he was scared out of his mind. He sighed and started looking around more.

He could see Italy staring at the blond sprinting through the bloodshed, eyes wide for once. He turned away and looked at the battle again. Then his eyes caught sight of someone he wasn't expecting to see.

France was standing near the back of the enemy's lines. He was holding a large decorative rifle, with a long bayonet, but Germany could tell it was just for show. Partially because France had terrible aim, and partially because France was almost as bad at fighting as Italy was. The only times he was actually fighting was when England was involved.

Then Germany noticed the man France was talking with. He was on the shorter side, with brown hair… Was that Napoleon Bonaparte? He frowned, thinking. _Well, if that is Napoleon then that'd mean that this was sometime around the French Revolution…_

…_oh Gott…_

"Italy, close your eyes," Germany murmured.

Italy blinked, glancing over at Germany. "What—?"

"ITALY, CLOSE YOUR EYES!" Germany screamed frantically. "CLOSE YOUR EYES! CLOSE YOUR EYES _NOW!_" He tried to grab Italy.

Italy scrambled back, staring from Germany to Holy Rome. "W-Why? W-What's happening?" He stammered.

Germany was panicking now. "ENGLAND! WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!"

England stared up at him. "W-What?" He stammered. "I don't think…"

"There's no time!" Germany shouted angrily, turning back toward the fighting. "We need to get out of here—!"

Suddenly, time seemed to slow down. He saw Holy Rome running, the battalions close enough together for hand to hand combat. He was stumbling, and his rifle slipped from his hands, jutting out of the mud. He reached for it frantically.

There was a flash of light reflected against a bayonet. Then a flash of red…a gunshot…

"_**NO!**_"

And suddenly time sped up again. Germany jerked forward, grabbing Italy as he leapt forward, screaming. They both tumbled out of the tree. Germany grabbed him again as he started squirming. "Italy, stop—!"

"NO! NO! HOLY ROME!" Italy was screaming frantically, tears streaming down his face. "GERMANY, LET GO OF ME—HOLY ROME! _HOLY ROME!_" He started squirming, clawing at Germany's arms as Germany started pulling him back. "_GET OFF OF ME!_"

Germany dragged Italy toward England. "England! Get us out of here! NOW!"

England stared at them for a second. Then he wrenched the spell book open, frantically reading something aloud. He grabbed onto Germany's shoulder, then they were engulfed in light.

* * *

><p>\\/\\/\

* * *

><p>They landed with a loud crash in another forest. It was pitch black. Germany could barely see. He forced himself to his feet, shaking.<p>

England was gasping on his knees next to him, looking barely conscious. He'd used too much magic.

Italy was standing next to him, trembling uncontrollably. Germany stepped closer. "I-Italy are you okay—?"

"Y-You left him there."

Germany flinched at the sound of Italy's shaking voice. "Italy, there was nothing we could do—"

"You left him there to die."

Germany froze. Italy's voice sounded strange. "Italy, please…"

"We need to go back," Italy mumbled. He turned, walking slowly over to England and pulling him to his feet. "Take us back." His voice got louder. "We need to go back. Take us back!"

England tried to say something, then passed out, collapsing. Italy stood there. "No. No, wake up!" Italy grabbed him again. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"

Germany grabbed his arm. "Italy! Italy, you need to stop! Italy, please, you need to—"

Italy spun around and slapped him. "YOU LEFT HIM THERE TO DIE!" He screamed. "YOU LEFT HIM THERE! Y-YOU LEFT HIM—" He fell forward, sobbing now. "You…I-I hate you…" he sobbed. "I-I…" He fell to the ground.

Germany stood there stiffly, feeling the strange stinging feeling where Italy had hit him. He stared down at Italy. After a few seconds, he turned away, numbness spreading through his body. "I know…" he murmured softly, "…I hate me too…"

* * *

><p><em>I keep getting comments on how I keep making people cry at the sad parts. Well, I'm thinking this one might have that effect too... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll get better soon.<em>

_I was expecting this chapter to be a lot shorter. Sorry about that._

_Hurensohn ~ Son of a bitch_


	13. Holy Roman Empire

Germany stared blankly up at the sky as the sun began to rise. It looked beautiful, like a watercolor painting slowly spreading across the black sky. But it really didn't matter.

How long had he been laying there? He didn't know, nor did he care. He must've passed out at some point. Why did he care anymore? He didn't move, not when the sky slowly changed to a dark, menacing gray, not when it started drizzling. Not until it began to thunder did he slowly force himself to his feet, looking around.

England was unconscious against a tree, his spell book clutched to his chest. He looked muddy and exhausted.

Germany turned slowly toward Italy. He hadn't moved since he'd collapsed the night before. He was curled up in the mud, unmoving. He was soaking wet. Germany gently crept over. "Italy, it's not healthy to sleep in the rain," he murmured.

"I'm not asleep."

Germany flinched. Italy's voice sounded weak, tired, empty. Germany grabbed Italy's shoulder. Italy didn't stir. Germany sighed, then scooped Italy up, carrying him beneath a tree and gently set him down. He stood there silently. After a few seconds, he stood up and walked away.

He wasn't sure where he was planning on going; he just needed to go, to get as far away from there as possible. He kept walking, for maybe hours, ignoring the cold rain pelting his face and the flashes of lightning.

He didn't stop until he heard someone shout, "Hey you!"

Germany froze and turned. A young soldier was staring at him, holding his gun threateningly. "We've already lost, you bastard!" The soldier shouted. "The Holy Roman Empire is gone! What more could you sons of bitches possibly want—?"

Germany didn't even realize he'd lashed out until the man fell senseless to the ground. Germany stared down at him, not completely sure what'd just happened. Then he heard more voices, probably shouting for the first soldier. Germany felt a rising sense of panic. If they found him, with an unconscious soldier lying on the ground next to him, he would likely be arrested or taken prisoner. He looked around frantically, wondering if it'd be more affective to run, fight, or hide.

Then his eye caught the soldier sprawled on the ground. And he got an idea.

…

"Hey, is anyone out here?" A soldier called loudly. "Hello?"

Germany peaked around the tree, the soldier's uniform already soaked from the rain, the back of his mind screaming, _This is a horrible idea! _He slowly crept away, praying silently that he wouldn't be noticed—

"Hey!"

Germany flinched and turned. "O-Oh, uh, h-hallo—"

"Are you Ralph, the new guy?" The soldier asked. Then he smacked the back of Germany's head. "Idiot, how the hell did you end up all the way out here?"

"Err…" Germany coughed. "J-Ja, I got lost…" he stammered.

The other soldier rolled his eyes. "Right. Well come on, I'm freezing my ass off out here." The soldier turned. Germany sighed and followed after. _Great, _he thought unhappily, _I guess I can slip away when I manage to get out of sight…_

He followed through the woods for a few minutes. Finally they came to a large clearing, with a makeshift camp in the center. It seemed completely devoid of life, but Germany could hear the telltale sounds of murmuring coming from the tents. Of course they all would've taken cover from the storm by this point.

Except for a sole person, sitting silently outside a large tent, his dull red eyes staring blankly at the ground.

Germany froze as they passed him. He stared at his brother, stunned by the uncharacteristic silence. Prussia didn't notice. He had old bloody bandages wrapped around his neck and arm. His head kept lolling forward, then jerking back up. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Was that how long it'd been…?

"Prussia…?" Germany asked softly. Prussia's head jerked up again. He blinked a few times, looking up at Germany. Germany bent down slightly. "Are you alright?"

Prussia stood up abruptly. "Ja, I'm fine," he answered quickly. "Why wouldn't I?" He wiped the mud quickly off his pants and straightened up. Then his eyes hardened. "Wait," he murmured, "just who the hell are you?"

Germany stiffened. _Right, of course he doesn't know who I am, _he thought frantically. "O-Oh, I'm, uh, Ralph," he lied quickly. "I-I'm new, uh—"

"Shouldn't you be doing sentry duties?" Prussia asked, his voice dripping with venom.

Germany swallowed nervously. Prussia was glaring at him, his eyes piercing. "O-Oh, sorry Prussia—"

"_When you talk to me you will address me as sir,_" Prussia hissed darkly.

"Y-Yes sir," Germany stammered quickly. _This __**cannot**__ be my bruder, _he thought.

The soldier who'd been walking with him grabbed his shoulder. "Sir, I'm sorry about that. He's new, it's my fault—"

"Did I look like I was talking to you?" Prussia snapped.

The soldier flinched nervously. "N-No sir. Sorry," he apologized. He pulled Germany away quickly. "Listen, kid, it's not a good idea to talk to him right now," he whispered, soft enough that Prussia couldn't hear him.

Germany glanced over at his brother again. Prussia was standing silently again, just staring at the ground. "I-Is he okay?" He asked.

Before the soldier could answer, a man walked out of the tent behind Prussia. His clothes were soaked in blood and he looked pale. Prussia stiffened and spun around, grabbing the man's collar before he could so much as say anything. "What's happening?" Prussia asked quickly. "Is he…is he still alive?"

Germany's eyes widened. Did that mean…?

The man Prussia had grabbed slowly pulled his hands away from his throat. "I-I…" the man averted his eyes quickly. "Sir, he's…he's bleeding profusely and he has several shattered ribs and he's—"

"I didn't ask you any of that!" Prussia yelled furiously. Germany could see a few people peeking out from the tents they were hiding in, but he wasn't really paying attention by now. He was too stunned by his brother, who was still shouting. "I don't care about what's wrong with him! Just fix him you son of a bitch!"

"Sir!" The man interrupted loudly. Prussia flinched. "There is nothing we can do for him! He's bleeding out and he's in excruciating pain! The fact that he's survived even this long is a miracle! All we've been able to do is give him enough alcohol to numb him from the pain, and even that isn't working anymore! He's dying, and nothing any of us can do is going to make any difference!"

Everything went dead silent, except for the rain pounding on their heads. Everyone held their breath. For a split second, Germany thought that Prussia was going to break the man's jaw. Then, all the life seemed to leave Prussia's eyes. He stood there for a moment, like a zombie. Then he murmured, "Right. 'Course. I'm sorry." He turned and started walking away.

Germany gaped as his brother disappeared past the tents. Then he quickly took off after him, ignoring the other soldiers' nervous warnings. "Prussia," he called. "Prussia, wait."

He managed to see Prussia trudge slowly into a large tent. Germany swallowed nervously and slipped silently in after him.

Germany looked around. It was dark, the only light from a lamp set near the entrance. There were two beds on either side. One side of the tent was messy, unkempt, covered with old weapons and all kinds of trinkets, some makeshift furniture, even a bird's nest made of twigs and blankets near the corner. The other side was neat and clean. There were folded clothes and polished swords and small dressers.

The only real distinguishing features on Holy Rome's side of the tent were the faded painting lying on the sheets and the small broom set against the dresser.

Prussia was standing in the center, his eyes fixed on the old broom. He walked slowly over to it and picked it up. He spun it around in his hand once. Germany watched him quietly, not sure what to say.

"You know…I never wanted a younger brother…" Germany jumped at the sound of Prussia's voice. Prussia turned the broom over in his hand, not even looking up. "Hell, why would the Awesome Me need some obnoxious brat following me around? It was just stupid…"

Germany took a step forward, trying to read his brother's face in the half-light. He couldn't even tell if Prussia was talking to him.

Prussia laughed a little. "Hell, I hated _looking _at the brat," he murmured. "With his blond hair and his blue eyes…" He ran his hand unconsciously through his own hair. "The perfect little idiot…" He shut his eyes. "I kept wishing that I wouldn't need to deal with him anymore…" He gave another laugh. "W-Well I guess I got my wish, didn't I…?" His voice cracked slightly.

Germany didn't say anything.

Prussia clenched his hand around the small broom tightly. Then, with an anguished scream, he smashed it as hard as he could against the ground. With a crack like a gunshot, the broom snapped in two.

Germany stiffened, eyes wide. "Prussia, what are you doing?" He shouted, running forward.

Prussia screamed and smashed it again, the end splintering into several pieces. He didn't even notice when part of it gashed his hand open. Then he grabbed the painting and hurled it against the dresser, where it shattered. Germany tried to grab him as he threw the dresser onto the ground. "_G*D DAMN IT!_" Prussia screamed.

"Prussia, stop it!" Germany shouted. He grabbed Prussia's arm and yanked him back. "Prussia!"

Prussia stared at him for a minute, gasping. Then he collapsed forward onto his knees. "J-Just…Just get out of here," he whispered. Germany stood there for a minute, wide eyed. Prussia glared up at him. "I said get out of here!" He yelled.

Germany flinched and stumbled quickly out of the tent. He stood there, silent, feeling like he was drowning. He shut his eyes, trying to figure out what to do next. In his mind, he could still hear his brother screaming, Italy sobbing helpless on the ground. He winced and opened his eyes again.

He looked around at his gray surroundings. He could make out a large tent through the rain, the tent that Prussia had been sitting outside of. The tent that Holy Roman Empire was dying in…

Germany slowly walked toward the tent, not even completely sure why. Before he knew it, he was standing right outside. He stared at the entrance. This was where the Holy Roman Empire was going to die.

Germany clenched his jaw. He could still hear his brother, his friend, everyone screaming inside his head. All for this one boy. All for the Holy Roman Empire. _Would anyone cry this was for me? _He wondered. _Would anyone care this much for me?_ He shut his eyes. No, they'd only cry this much for Holy Rome. Because he was the one they all loved so much …because he was going to die here…

Germany took a deep breath. _Not if I can help it._

He slipped inside.

The room was empty, except for the deathly pale boy lying on a mattress. He had bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, stomach, and head, almost completely soaked through with blood. His chest rose and fell with every uneven breath.

Germany stood over him. He bent down and started looking closely at the bandages. He cast a quick glance around. There was a strong reek of alcohol, but other than that, there was nothing signifying that they'd done anything, any surgery, any anything. He turned back toward the boy.

Two sets of blue eyes met. Germany froze, startled. Holy Rome just stared back at him. "W…Who're…?" He started coughing violently, blood in his mouth. "W-Who're you…?" He managed to gasp weakly.

Germany took a deep breath and patted the boy's arm. "I'm…Ralph," he lied.

"Oh," he murmured. He coughed again. "A-Am I…dying…?" He asked.

Germany looked closely at him. Holy Rome looked back. Germany glanced away. Then he said, "No."

Holy Rome smiled slightly. "Good," he whispered. "I still…I-I still need to…to see…Ita…ly…" He shut his eyes.

Germany swallowed. "J-Ja," he replied softly. "You do."

He waited a few seconds, to see if Holy Rome did anything else. When it was clear he had passed out, Germany stood up and started looking around. He grabbed a few kegs of alcohol. _I hope this will work—_

"Hey, who the hell are you?"

Germany looked back up. There was a soldier standing in the opening of the tent, looking confused. Germany turned back to what he was doing. "I'm Ralph. I'm here to try and save this kid's life." He walked over toward Holy Rome. "What have you people done so far? Have you tried to disinfect the wound?"

"What?"

Germany sighed. _Right, it's 1806, _he remembered."Well, we need to…to clean the wound…" He shook his head, not sure how to explain it. "Never mind. Do you know if the bullet is still there?"

"I don't understand…"

Germany sighed. "Um, just get some people in here."

The soldier sent him one more confused look, then strode out.

Germany turned back toward the Holy Roman Empire. "Okay…" he murmured, bending down and pulling away the bandages. "I can do this…" he told himself. He shut his eyes, trying to think. He knew what he was doing. Hypothetically, at least. Hell, he was the Federal Republic of Germany. He'd learned all kinds of things over the years, he had the most Nobel Peace Prize in the twentieth century, he had the oldest health care...

Unfortunately, he still wasn't a doctor. But he could worry about that later.

Three more soldiers walked in, looking bewildered. Germany glanced up. "Come here. And, uh, hand me that lamp…"

…

(Two Hours Later)

…

Holy Roman Empire screamed as Germany pressed a rag soaked in alcohol against the wound. Germany flinched and grabbed the kid's arm as he flailed out, before he could hit Germany's face again. "Come on, kid, you're okay," he said.

One of the soldiers spoke up. "W-Why are you doing that again?" He asked shakily.

"Because alcohol should work as an antiseptic and…" Germany glanced up, noticing the man's blank look. He sighed. "It will make him better, alright?" The soldier didn't look convinced. Germany scowled at him. "Listen to me, this is the best chance we have of saving him, so shut up."

He turned back toward Holy Roman Empire. He was a little boy. But he was also a Nation. They survived for hundreds, even thousands of years. If Germany could just make him even a little better, the kid could probably survive for hundreds of years more.

For a second, Germany wondered how that would affect the future. How much would he end up changing? What was going to happen? Would he somehow make everything worse? Would Germany even exist…?

Then he remembered Italy and Prussia. And he decided he didn't care. They all seemed happier with Holy Rome anyway…

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?"

Germany's head shot up quickly. His brother was standing in the doorway, staring at him. Germany stood up. "Bruder—err, Prussia—I-I mean, sir—!"

Prussia ran forward and grabbed his throat. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" He shouted.

Germany yelped and pushed Prussia away. "I-I'm trying to help him—"

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY BROTHER YOU SICK PSYCHO!" Prussia punched his face. Germany stumbled backward, falling over some tools he'd left on the ground and landing on the ground with a painful thud. Prussia glared at a soldier. "Give me your sword!" He demanded.

Germany stiffened and leapt to his feet. "Wait, I was just trying to help!" He protested frantically.

Prussia glared at him. "I swear to god you bastard, I'll—"

"…why are you two so loud…?" Holy Rome mumbled.

Prussia sighed. "Bruder, be quiet, I'm busy," he said. "I—" He froze midsentence. He blinked, looking startled. Then he spun around.

Holy Rome was staring up at him, looking half asleep.

Prussia opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. "H…How…what…w…w-what did…" He looked over at Germany, then looked back at Holy Rome, then Germany. "He's…alive…" he murmured weakly. Then he turned toward Holy Rome again. "Y-You're alive," he repeated.

Holy Roman Empire rubbed his head, looking slightly confused. "Why wouldn't I be?" He asked.

Prussia stared blankly at him. Then he grabbed Holy Rome into a bone-crushing hug. "YOU'RE ALIVE!" He shouted. "YOU'RE ALIVE YOU'RE ALIVE HOLY F***ING SHIT YOU ARE ALIVE!" He squeezed the boy tighter. Germany could see Holy Rome cringing and turning blue.

Germany stepped forward slightly. "Maybe you shouldn't strangle him—"

Prussia looked up and grabbed Germany's shoulders. "Y-You save my bruder," he stammered. "You…you are awesome! Y-You're the awesome-est! How can I repay you?"

"Stay out of my basement."

Prussia's face fell. "Huh?"

"Uh, nothing. Never mind." Germany coughed and looked away. "You don't need to repay me or anything. It's fine."

Prussia grinned at him. He turned toward Holy Rome and hugged him tightly. "I…I can't believe it! Holy shit!"

Holy Rome looked up at him. "Ow…what are you talking about...?" He flinched slightly, rubbing his head. "W...Who're you again?"

Both Germany and Prussia froze. Prussia let go. "What?" He scratched his head. "What do you mean? I-It's me. Prussia. The Awesome Prussia. You…" He trailed off. "You recognize me…don't you?" He asked after a second.

Holy Rome squinted at him. "I…I don't think so," he mumbled, rubbing his bandaged head weakly. "W…Who…am I again…?"

Prussia blinked. He looked up at Germany. "What's wrong with him?" He asked.

Germany shrugged. "I-I don't know," he responded. "Head trauma maybe…?"

Prussia looked back at Holy Rome. He patted his head. "Well, your name is Hol…" He froze. "You…you officially don't exist," he murmured, looking away. "You're…the Holy Roman Empire doesn't exist anymore…" He trailed off again and sighed, not sure what he was supposed to say.

"I guess…well I guess I can call you 'Germany' from now on."

The blond stared up at him sleepily. He yawned slightly. "O-Okay, I guess," he mumbled.

Prussia gave the kid a small hug. The soldiers all looked relieved. The boy was alive. Everything was going to turn out alright. They all grinned at each other.

No one noticed 'Ralph', frozen in place, all the blood drained from his face.

* * *

><p><em>I'm sure a lot of you were expecting that kind of ending. Of course, Germany wasn't...<em>

_This was a kinda depressing chapter, for the most part. But the end is cheery._

_Might be late with the next chapter, since I won't have too much access to the computer. See you guys soon!_


	14. What?

Germany stood blankly near the side of the tent, his mouth hanging agape. "_W-W-What?" _He stammered softly.

"Hey, uh, Ralph, are you feeling okay?" A soldier asked.

Germany's voice came out as a high pitched squeak. He flinched and cleared his voice. "I-I mean, I-I'm f-fine," he stammered. "I-I just…I was just…it's just such a touching moment," he finished lamely. "…Just…Just beautiful…"

The soldier chuckled slightly and strode away, allowing Germany to go back to panicking. Holy Roman Empire was…Germany was…what…? He was fairly sure he was hyperventilating. Yup. Definitely hyperventilating. He grabbed a small chair to support himself.

Holy Roman Empire was…Germany…? He shook his head slowly. That wasn't possible. That _couldn't _be possible. That… He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. It wasn't working.

"Hey Ralph!" Germany glanced up at Prussia, who was grinning at him. "You and me, we gotta go drinking some time!" He started ruffling his brother's hair. "Hell, you can come too, Germany! You could pass as old enough!"

The little boy looked groggily up at him. "Um okay."

Germany cringed slightly. "Gott, I'm so confused," he muttered.

"You say something, Ralph?" Prussia asked.

"…I said that sounds like great news…"

"I know! It'll be awesome!" Prussia responded, not noticing Germany's panic. "Hell, you know what? I'll go get some beer right now!" He ran out of the tent, looking the happiest Germany had ever seen him.

Germany and Germany (weird sentence, huh,) looked over at each other. The older Germany couldn't help stare at the little kid, at himself, in amazement. _This is…really me? _He thought, stunned. _This is…me…? Everyone was…crying for me…?_

Then another thought crossed his mind.

_Italy…Italy loves me._

He blinked, startled by the thought. _Italy…Italy said he loves me, _he thought again, his mind beginning to race. He felt like his heart stopped. _Italy…_

"U-Um, are you all right?" The younger Germany asked nervously. "Um, Herr Ralph…?"

Germany nodded blankly. "Yes. Ja, I'm…I'm amazing," he murmured. "I'm… Ja, don't worry…" He shut his eyes. _I…I need to tell Italy…!_

Prussia walked past the opening to the tent, carrying something. Germany walked over and peaked out. "Hey Prussia—"

"Broom? What broom?" Prussia yelped, hiding something behind his back. "T-There was never a broom! I have no idea what you're talking about! You must be feeling sick to even think that there ever was a broom—"

"I never said broom, bruder."

Prussia blinked. "Oh." He coughed uncomfortably, staring at the ground. "…Broom? What broom?" He cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. "W-Why do you keep calling me 'bruder'?" He asked.

Germany blanched. "…uh…we're…all brothers under God."

Prussia thought for a second. "Um, right, okay…" He replied slowly.

A small blond head poked out of the tent. "What's going on?" He asked innocently.

Prussia looked over at him. "Whoa, you shouldn't be walking around!" He said starting forward.

"What's that, bruder?" The boy asked innocently, pointing at the wood Prussia was holding behind his back.

Prussia stiffened. "O-Oh, this?" He stammered. "This is just…I was just…" He looked away, trying to think of something to tell him. A thought crossed his mind. "I was just getting a present for my adorable little brother!" He lied. "Err, here you go!" He shoved part of the broom into his hands.

The younger Germany looked down at it curiously. "Um, what's this thing supposed to be?" He asked. "It's all splintery…"

Prussia gave a nervous laugh. "Ha, that's just, um…" He patted the kid's head. "This is your new friend, uh, Herr Stick!"

'Ralph' gave another frightened squeak and stumbled backward, wide-eyed. Prussia and Germany looked up at him, looking confused. 'Ralph' looked away and coughed. "E-Err, cold," he stammered quickly. "I-I caught a cold…"

Prussia shrugged. "Anyway, I went through a lot of trouble to get you a present," he lied, turning back toward the boy, "so, um, take extra good care of it—*cough* him, okay?" He smiled and started ruffling his brother's hair. "…and while you do that I can hide the rest of the evidence…" he murmured. He stood up. "Hey Ralph could you—?" He turned and realized that they were alone. He looked around. "Ralph…?"

(Almost a mile away…)

"MEIN GOTT ITALY YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP JETZT AUFWACHEN OH MEIN GOTT ER IST NICHT TOT HERR STICK EST EIN BESEN ICH LIEBE DICH MEIN GOTT _SCHEIßE_!"

Germany sprinted back into the clearing screaming incoherent German. He tripped over England and hit the ground. England jolted upright. "Wha'appenedisthemedowonfire?" He yelped, looking around.

Germany ignored him and lurched to his feet. "Italy, wake up!" He shouted, stumbling over to the small Italian lying on the ground where Germany had left him. "Italy, you have to get up! You have to—!"

"I'm awake."

Germany froze. Italy honestly sounded like a zombie. Germany had forgotten how upset Italy was in his excitement. He bent down. "Italy, sit up. I need to tell you something!" He said softly. Italy didn't move. Germany scowled and grabbed Italy's shoulder, sitting him up. "Italy, please…"

Italy looked up at him. His eyes were empty and exhausted. He was covered in mud, except for the stream of tears still smeared across his face. All he mumbled was, "What?"

Germany stared at him for a moment. "Gott, Italy…" he murmured. He gingerly reached forward, trying to wipe some of the mud off of Italy's face. "Italy, listen to me, Holy Roman Empire is still alive."

Italy looked up at him for a few seconds. Then he shook his head slowly. "No he isn't," he murmured. "He's dead. I saw him die. You let him die."

Germany flinched slightly at the accusation. "Nein, Italy, he's alive." He tried to give Italy a reassuring smile. "He is. I saw him."

Italy's eyes started welling up with tears. "W-Why are you lying to me?" He murmured.

Germany stiffened. He tried to pat Italy's head. "N-No, Italy! I-I'm not—"

"Stop it! Please!" Italy had started to cry. "L-Leave me alone!"

Germany looked over at England, who was watching them sleepily. "Bloody hell, what're you looking at me for?" He muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Germany sighed. He turned back toward the sobbing Italian. "Italy, please calm down…" He paused, hoping for some response, but Italy just continued crying. Germany stood up. He bent down and grabbed Italy's arm, gently hoisting him to his feet. "Come on, Italy. I need to show you someone."

…

Fifteen minutes later the three had made their way through the forest toward the soldiers' camp, England grumbling to himself (and his fairies) the entire way. When they finally got to the camp, it was dark. Germany peaked around the trees, making sure no one was there to see them. Then he slipped into the camp, pulling the distraught Italy behind him.

It took Germany several minutes to find the tent again in the dark. He slowly peaked inside. There were several soldiers standing near the entrance. Prussia was sitting by Germany as he fell asleep, the large stick still clutched in his hand. One of the soldiers said, "Sir, we should go now. You should let the kid sleep. And you should probably sleep too."

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Come on, the Awesome Me doesn't need slee—" His head nodded forward then quickly jerked back up. "WHOA WHAT HAPPENED?" He yelped. He blinked once. Then he glared at the soldier. "You have made your point," he grumbled.

He glanced over at his brother. "Guten nacht, Deutschland," he muttered, ruffling the kid's hair again. "G'night, West." He gave his brother a small kiss on the forehead. Then he remembered the other soldiers looking at him. He coughed, suddenly embarrassed. "Mention that to anyone and I'll have you hung for treason," he said. He stood up and walked out.

Germany stiffened and grabbed the other two, pulling them out of the way as Prussia passed by. "Arschlocher…" he heard him mumbling. The other couple of soldiers followed after him. Leaving the three alone outside of the tent.

Germany slipped inside, tugging Italy in behind him. England quickly followed after them. (Insert bad-ass James Bond theme music here) "Cramped-looking place, isn't it?" He muttered, looking around.

Germany nudged Italy's arm. "Italy, look up," he whispered. Italy glanced up, then froze. His breath caught in his throat. Germany couldn't help but smile as Italy slowly made his way over to the boy sleeping soundly on the old mattress.

Italy bent down, still staring at the boy. He reached out and gently prodded the boy's face, as if he thought it was a ghost. Then he slowly looked up at Germany. "He…He's alive…!" He whispered.

"Ja, I think I mentioned something like that earlier."

A smile slowly spread across Italy's face. "He's alive. He's alive! Ay dios mio!" He grabbed him into a tight hug. "H-Holy Rome is alive! He's alive he's alive he's—"

Germany grabbed him quickly. "Italy, stop!" He hissed. "You might wake someone up! Ita—"

"Wha 'appenin'…?"

Germany and Italy both stiffened. Italy glanced down at the bleary eyed boy looking up at him.

The younger Germany blinked sleepily a few times. He rubbed his eye. "A…Are…Are you an angel?" He mumbled, looking back up at Italy.

Germany cringed.

Italy giggled slightly. "Ve~ no, I'm not," he replied, smoothing the boy's hair. He leaned down and softly pecked his cheek.

Germany felt his face heating up. _Holy crap…_ he thought weakly, looking away. _Scheiße__. _He shut his eyes, not noticing the odd sidelong look that England was giving him.

The younger Germany just stared up at Italy. Then he smiled sleepily. "No no, you're definitely an angel…" he murmured, slowly shutting his eyes and pulling the stick he was holding against his chest. Within seconds, he'd fallen back into a deep sleep.

Italy smiled down at him, tears streaming down his face. "He's alive…" he murmured again. "H-He's alive…" Italy kissed his cheek again. "He's alive…"

Germany was sure his face was glowing by now. "Ja, ja, we get it, he's alive…" he mumbled, looking away. "Well, we should start heading back now…"

He turned toward England. England was giving him an odd look, looking from him to the boy Italy was holding. Then he shrugged. "Right, sure, I'll start making some preparations then," he answered, pulling out his spell book one last time. "Let me see…" He bent down and started drawing.

Germany stepped next to Italy, who was still crooning and kissing the boy's face. "Italy…um…c-could you stop doing that?" He mumbled, blush somehow getting redder.

Italy looked up at him, still smiling through his tears. "Sorry Germany." He stood up.

Germany sighed. "Why are you crying again?" He asked. "You should be happy, right?"

Italy nodded. "Uh-huh! Ve~ I'm crying _because_ I'm happy!" He smiled up at Germany, wiping his face with his palm. "I'm so happy…" he whispered. He sniffled slightly. "Germany you…you saved him, didn't you?"

Germany shrugged and cleared his throat. "Um, well technically, but—"

Italy hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Germany. Thank you…" he murmured.

Germany smiled slightly. "Listen, Italy, I have to tell you something—"

"Alright, we're ready to go!" England announced, hopping to his feet. "And hurry up. I was planning on going to see the new Harry Potter soon."

"Ve~ let's go!" Italy said, grabbing Germany's hand and pulling him over to the circle.

Germany felt another blush on his face. "R-Right, let's go…"

There was another flash of light…

…

"I'm telling you, bruder, I saw an angel last night!"

Prussia rolled his eyes slightly. "Keep tellin' yourself that, West," he answered, smirking at his little brother. "…and here I was thinking you were too young to be having dreams like that…" He shook his head.

"No, I'm serious!" Germany protested, still carrying the large stick in his hand. "There really was an angel last night! I swear!"

"Sure, sure…" Prussia responded. He glanced up as someone covered in mud stumbled out of the woods. He stiffened and grabbed at his gun. "Hey, stop! Who're you!"

The man stumbled over to Prussia. "S-Sir, s-someone stole my uniform!" The man shouted, spitting mud out of his mouth. "Someone attacked me in the woods and stole my uniform and my gun and—!"

Prussia raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell are you?" He asked.

"O-Oh, my name is Ralph! I-I'm new here and—"

"Wait, you're Ralph?" Prussia interrupted, feeling confused. "But what about…" He looked back toward the soldiers, then over at his little brother. "That can't…" He frowned, feeling more confused by the second. "…Well then, go where ever then, Ralph. Go on, shoo." Prussia waved him away. The man quickly walked off.

"What was that guy talking about?" Germany asked.

Prussia looked down at him. _Well, whoever that guy was, I don't really care. Hope I get to drink with him some time. _"No one, West. Come on, let's get going!" He messed up the kid's hair and started walking.

* * *

><p>\\/\\/\

* * *

><p>Germany, England, and Italy stumbled forward, all landing on the floor with a thump. England sat up dizzily. "Bloody hell why is everyone spinning—?" He immediately pitched sideways, unconscious.<p>

Germany clambered to his feet. "Ow…" he shook his head and looked over at Italy. He walked over and grabbed his hand, helping him to his feet. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "Huh, it's only been a few minutes since we left," he commented. "You feeling alright, Italy?"

Italy nodded. "Ve~" was all he managed to say.

Germany smiled at him. Italy smiled back. Then his face fell. He looked away quickly. "U-Um, Germany?"

Germany blinked. "Huh? What's wrong?"

"U-Um…I…" Italy started fidgeting nervously. "Germany I…I don't hate you…"

Germany couldn't help but smile. "It's alright Italy," he replied. "I understand."

Italy smiled and glomped Germany into a big hug, burying his face into Germany's chest. Germany hugged him back, for once feeling elated. He gently pressed his face into Italy's hair. "I-Italy, I love—"

"When do you think Holy Roman Empire is coming back?"

Germany froze. _Huh?_

Italy looked up at Germany. "Holy Rome is alive! That means he's coming back!" Italy's smile seemed to get even bigger. "I can't wait! I wonder what's taking him so long! I can't wait to see him!"

"…Italy…"

"Huh? Oh, I-I'm sorry Germany!" Italy stammered. "You were trying to say something. Sorry! What were you going to say?"

Germany opened his mouth. "I-I…I was going to say…" He felt a strange sinking feeling in his chest. "I love…gelato…"

Italy smiled at him. "Ve~ me too!" He shouted obliviously. "We should go and get some later!" He skipped off. "Bye Germany! And thank you so much! You're my best friend ever!" Then he was gone.

Germany blinked. Then he groaned. "Verdammt…" he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

Because he still wasn't Holy Roman Empire. He was just Germany.

* * *

><p><em>The German should translate to: WAKE UP NOW OH MY GOD HE'S STILL ALIVE HERR STICK IS A BROOM I LOVE YOU OH MY GOD <em>SHIT_! Feel free to correct; Google Translate has betrayed me before._

_Arsclocher is the plural of arschloch. Hey, Prussia doesn't like being judged. So stop it._

_This was an extremely hard chapter for me to write. No, not because of the syntax or the little time I had to write, but because Rachel has been STARING OVER MY SHOULDER FOR THE PAST TWO HOURS! Seriously, she keeps shouting about M-Preg every time I so much as write Italy, and she asks me if I'm done once a paragraph, and if at random times throughout the chapter you see out of place swearing, that was for her._

_...Okay, ignore that last paragraph...sorry...I blame her..._

_...Damn you, Rachel...Damn you..._

_Also, forgot to say this last time, but thank you all for the 200+ reviews!_


	15. Awesome Ideas

Germany stood silently in the room for another minute. It seemed he did a lot of that nowadays, standing around, not completely sure what to do. He loathed the feeling. He took a deep breath and began walking toward the door. He paused and glanced back, realizing he'd almost forgotten the unconscious Englishman. "Hey, England, get up," he muttered, trying to shake his arm.

England mumbled and swatted weakly. "…damn you, stop touching me you bloody frog…"'

Germany sighed. He tried to drag England to his feet. He held him in the air by the shoulders for a minute, trying to shake him awake. When that didn't work, he scowled and started dragging him toward the door.

As he reached for the doorknob, the door swung backward. "Yo, Iggy! Wassup! Italy said you were over here. What happened to going to the movies—?" America paused when he noticed that England wasn't saying anything back. "Whoa, dude, what's wrong with Iggy?" He asked, prodding England's face. "Duuuude…"

Germany rolled his eyes. "Well he's your friend. You hold him." He shoved England over to America. "See you." He strode past America and started heading home.

America blinked. "Uh, I dunno about 'friend'… Hey, wait, where're you going? What the hell am I supposed to do with…?" He trailed off. He glanced down at England. Then he grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He whipped out his cell phone and dialed. "Dude! Tony! England is unconscious! Quick, get the hairspray!" He hung up and ran off, dragging England behind him.

Germany rolled his eyes as America and England disappeared. He started walking slowly back toward his house.

When he got back to his house, he noticed that the front door was ajar. He sighed. Why was it that Prussia never remembered to close the door when he was drunk? He pushed it open and started looking around for the unconscious albino he was sure to find sleeping somewhere in his house.

He started stepping over the four dogs slowly, so as not to wake them. He was about to slip into the living room when he remembered that he only owned three dogs. He turned around. "Ein, zwei, drei…vier…?" He frowned and bent down toward the closest, a large white one with Gilbird asleep on its head. "What the…?"

Kumajiro looked sleepily up at him. "…hello…"

Germany blinked. Then he stood up and shook his head. "Okay…there is a talking polar bear in my house…" he murmured. He quickly slid into the next room.

Prussia and Canada were both sound asleep on the couch. Prussia had a pair of glasses hanging off his face and an arm wrapped around the smaller Canadian lying half on top of him.

Germany stood in the doorway awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable. He tiptoed over to his brother and gently shook his shoulder. "Prussia…bruder, wake up," he whispered. "Prussia, you are a horrible influence on Canada…"

"I'm tryin' to sleep ya' arschloch," Prussia mumbled back. "Wake me up when I'm finished bein' hunged over."

Germany scowled. "Bruder, get up. I need to talk to you."

"Gai cocken ahfen yam."

Germany scowled. "Oh yeah? Well why don't you—" He paused, realizing that he had no idea what Prussia had just said. "Wait, what language was that?"

"No idea," Prussia responded. "Now leave me alone."

Germany sighed. "Prussia, please, I need to talk to you about something." He waited a second to see if Prussia would move. Finally he bent down and started pulling Prussia to his feet, being careful to not disturb Canada.

"Oww, what're ya' doin' leggo my arm I'm tryin' to sleep get offa me you obnoxious blond devil…" Prussia protested groggily.

Germany rolled his eyes and dragged his brother into the kitchen. He sat him down at the table. "Bruder…"

"Why're you so mean?" Prussia complained, resting his head in his hand. "I was havin' a nice dream 'bout my awesomeness and Russia got eatin' by a bear on a unicycle and there was beer and wurst and I think Canada might've been there but it was kinda hard to tell y'know and—"

"Why didn't you tell me that I was the Holy Roman Empire?"

Prussia froze. He looked up at Germany, eyes wide. Then he started laughing nervously. "Whoa, I am really hung over. I must've heard you wrong," he said quickly, looking away. "For a moment there I thought you said—"

"—that I was Holy Roman Empire, ja."

Prussia stiffened. He gave another weak laugh. "W-Wow, it happened again. Maybe I should go lay down and—"

"Bruder," Germany interrupted impatiently.

Prussia stared up at him. "…and…and…you remember…" He put his head back in his hands. "Scheiße…"

Germany sat down next to him. They sat there for a few minutes silently. Germany finally broke the silence. "So, uh, bruder, are you going to say anything any time—?"

"What exactly do you want me to say?" Prussia snapped. Germany paused. "I mean, what the hell was I supposed to tell you?" Prussia continued, rubbing his throbbing head. "That I messed up? That I practically got you killed? That I probably had ruined your life?" Prussia shrugged. "Hell, you'd forgotten, so I figured it'd be better if we all just forgot about it."

Germany scowled at him. "Is that all you and your friends do? Pretend it never happened and get on with your lives?"

"It's worked so far for us…" Prussia mumbled with a tired shrug.

Germany sighed, shaking his head. "You…" He rested his head in his hand. "I don't understand you sometimes…"

They sat there silently for another couple of minutes. Germany glanced up at his brother, who was staring into space. "Hey, uh bruder…" Germany started. Prussia glanced at him. "Err, well, I just wanted to say that…I'm not mad at you…or anything. I…I forgive you."

Prussia stared at him for a moment. Then he grinned. "Kesese, why would you be mad at the Awesome Me?" He asked, leaning back. "I'm way too awesome to be mad at!"

Germany chuckled slightly. "Right, of course," he replied. He could tell his brother felt better.

Prussia hopped to his feet. "Exactly." He walked over to the fridge and pulled out two beer cans. "Come on, West! Let's drink!" He tossed one to Germany and sat down. Germany sighed and opened the can, taking a slow, tired sip. Prussia took a swig. "So, how'd Italy take the news?"

Germany took a deep breath. "I, err…he doesn't know."

Prussia blinked. "What? Why not?" He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and dialed. Germany stiffened when he heard a familiar "Ciao!" on the other line. "Hey there, Italy! You'll never guess what—!"

Germany swiped the phone out of Prussia's hands. "Wrong number," he hissed into the receiver and hung up.

Prussia blinked. "I called him by his name. You really gonna think he'll believe that?"

(In Italy)

"Hey fratello, who was that?"

"Wrong number!"

(Back in the plot…)

Prussia thought about it for a second. "Oh…right…Italy…" He took another sip. "So, why don't you want to tell Italy?" He asked. "Or do you want to be a virgin the rest of your life?"

Germany rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he muttered, getting annoyed. "First off, that's not the point. And second off…" He trailed off, staring at the floor, trying to think. "… and second off, I'm not the Holy Roman Empire."

Prussia looked up at him skeptically. "What the hell are you talking about? I thought you were just saying that you were—"

"Ja, that's right, I _was_ the Holy Roman Empire," he cut in. "_Was_. But nowI'm Germany. Der Bundesrepublik Deutchland. Hell, I hadn't even heard of the Holy Roman Empire until Italy mentioned him. I don't know anything about him, I don't remember any of his memories… We're basically two different people." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Italy loves the person I was before, not me."

Prussia stared at him for a moment. He scowled, thinking hard. "Well…" he murmured, furrowing his brows. This his eyes lit up. "Well we'll just have to fix that!" He grabbed his cell phone from Germany and dialed.

Germany blinked. "What the hell are you talking about—?"

"Ciao!" Germany froze at the sound of Italy's voice.

"Hey there Ita—will you stop that!" Prussia snapped as Germany tried to grab the phone again. He paused. "No, not you, Italy. So how're you doing?" Another pause. Germany strained to hear the other line. Prussia scowled at him and swatted at his head. "Great! Glad to hear it! So anyway, I was just talking with West—" Germany started desperately trying to grab the phone. Prussia jammed his palm into Germany's forehead. "—and he was hoping you and him could go get some pasta tomorrow!"

Germany's eyes widened. "P-Prussia, w-w-what're you doing—?"

"You can? Great!" Prussia leaned back in the chair, setting his feet on the table. "Ja, he can't wait! See you!" He hung up. "Well, that solves that problem—"

Germany grabbed his throat. "_HOW THE HELL DOES THAT SOLVE ANYTHING?"_ He shouted, shaking him back and forth.

Prussia yelped. "W-Whoa, West, calm down!" He pushed Germany back. "Calm down. Don't worry. The Awesome Me knows what he's doing."

"Then explain to me what exactly it is you're planning on doing," Germany growled, his arms shaking.

Prussia stood up. "You're all worked up about Italy not liking the 'real' you and whatnot, right?" He grinned at him. "So we just got to make Italy like you!"

Germany frowned. "What the hell do you mean?"

Prussia grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. "Well, since the two of you are going out to get pasta tomorrow, you just have to do something all romantic and shit! That way he'll like you! Then you can tell him about you being Holy Rome and it wouldn't make a difference!"

"That…" Germany paused, thinking. "Huh, that could actually work, I guess…"

"See? You can solve anything with just a little bit of awesomeness!"

"But wait," Germany said, shaking his head, "come on, neither of us have the first clue to anything 'romantic'."

Prussia paused. Then he laughed. "Kesese, that's true. Hey, you remember that one Valentine's Day where you had a tomato thing and—"

"I've worked very hard to repress those memories, thank you very much."

"Right." Prussia thought hard. "Let's see, something romantic…something romantic…" Then he grinned. "Wait! I got the perfect thing!" He hopped up and ran into the other room. Germany followed after him.

"Canada! Hey Canada!" Prussia had grabbed Canada's shoulders and was violently shaking him back and forth. "Canada, wake up!"

Canada screamed and sat up. "AGH! WHO ARE YOU? WHAT'RE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE? WHERE'RE MY GLASSES? BACK OFF, I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY!" Canada whipped out a spray can and sprayed the liquid into his own eyes. "OHMYGODTHATHURTS!" He fell sideways off the couch.

Prussia caught him and hoisted him back onto the couch. "Relax, it's just the Awesome Me."

Canada blinked, his eyes watering. "O-Oh. O-Oh yeah. Sorry," he stammered, squinting at Prussia.

Prussia looked over at Germany. "Hey, have you seen Canada's glasses?"

"Ja. You're wearing them."

Prussia blinked. He reached up and pulled off the pair of glasses still jammed onto his face. "Oh hey! Here they are!" He pushed the glasses onto Canada's face (jabbing his eye in the process). "So Canada, I need to ask you something."

"…Does it involve more maiming…?" Canada asked weakly, rubbing his eyes.

"You remember that cartoon stuff we watched the other day?" Prussia asked excitedly. "You know, the one with the dogs eating the spaghetti and the fat Italian guy with the accordion?"

"…You mean Lady and the Tramp…?" Canada asked.

"Yeah, that. Woman and the Hobo-type-thing-or-whatever. Go get it!"

Canada sighed. "Sure, I'm going, eh…"

…

"Hey, Veneziano, why are you acting so weird?" Romano asked.

Italy looked up from the chocolates he was making. "Ve~ what do you mean, Romano?" He asked, smiling happily.

Romano rolled his eyes as he sat down. "That. Just that. You're acting way too happy, even for an idiota like you. What's wrong with you, damn it?"

Italy giggled as he stirred the chocolate. "That's just silly, Romano. I don't need a reason to be happy."

Romano scowled at him. "Still, you've been acting weird since you got back from whatever idiotic shit you did with that obnoxious French pervert." Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Did you drink anything? Did he drug you?"

"Nope. I'm just extra happy today! Do I need a reason?"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure…" He paused, looking over at the chocolate on the stove. "What the hell are you doing? Why are you making chocolates? Are you sure he didn't drug you?"

"Si, I'm sure, Romano," Italy responded.

Romano crossed his arms. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Italy smiled to himself. "I'm just…waiting for someone…" he murmured.

"Is it that potato bastard?" Romano snorted. "You should seriously stop hanging out with that freak."

"No, I'm not making it for Germany. But I'm eating pasta with him tomorrow!" Italy shook his head. "No, I'm making for Holy Rome!"

Romano blinked. "Che cosa?" He stood up. "What're you talking about?" He asked, walking over to look closely at his brother. "Seriously, what kind of messed up drugs—?"

"I'm not on drugs, Romano," Italy insisted. "Holy Roman Empire is alive."

Romano gave him a skeptical look. "Right. And my name is Rosa."

Italy looked up, confused. "No it's not."

Romano smacked the back of Italy's head. "Idiota," he muttered. "That's not what I meant. Holy Roman Empire is dead. He's been dead for over two hundred years. You'd be completely delusional to think otherwise."

Italy shook his head. "No, he's alive," he responded, turning back toward his cooking.

"Really?" Romano asked dryly. "So why haven't you seen him in the past several hundred years?"

Italy froze. "…W-Well he probably…" He trailed off, trying to think of an excuse.

"Why hasn't he come back to see you?"

Italy looked over at his brother. "I-I'm sure that—"

"Why hasn't he bothered contacting you? How come no one has seen or heard from the freaking Nation since the early 1800s?"

"R-Romano, stop it…"

"Where the hell would a damn Nation be hiding? How could no one know where he is?"

"Romano, stop, please—!"

"Come on, if he loved you, why the hell would that bastard have just abandoned you—?"

"_Shut up!_"

Romano jumped slightly. He looked over at his brother, who looked close to tears. "Holy Rome loves me," he whispered. "He does. And he's coming back. He is. I know he is."

Romano sighed. "Listen, I'm just saying, you shouldn't get your hopes up when you're just going to end up…" He trailed off, finally noting the look on his brother's face. He sighed again. "…Ugh, never mind…damn it…"

Spain ran into the room. "Is everyone okay?" He yelped. "I heard shouting!"

Romano looked up at him. "Yeah yeah, Veneziano and I were just—" He froze. "Wait, how the hell did you get into our house you bastard?"

"Oh, err… ¿No sé…?"

"How the hell could you not know how you broke into someone's house?" Romano snapped back. "Eres estupido."

Spain stared at him, wide eyed. "You spoke Spanish!" He squealed happily, hugging the Italian tightly. "Oh, I'm so proud of you, mi tomate pequeño…"

"What? What the hell, get off!" Romano started trying to squirm away frantically. "Damn it, Spain, get off of me! Chigi!" He started trying to head butt Spain, but found he couldn't turn enough to reach.

Spain looked down at him, smiling affectionately. "Aww, you are so cute! And Ita—" He looked up and froze, the smile fading. "Italy…?" He let go of Romano. "Hey Italy, are you okay?" He asked, just realizing that Italy was crying.

Italy sniffled and wiped his tears. "Y-Yeah…I'm alright…" he mumbled, looking down. "I-I'm fine. I…I think I'm going to go to bed now." He turned and quickly walked away. "Um, Buonanotte."

"Oh, uh, buenas—"

Italy closed the door before Spain could finish.

He dragged himself up the stairs and slipped into his room. He flopped down on his bed, taking a deep breath and staring up at the ceiling, trying to will the tears in his eyes away. _Holy Rome does love me, _Italy thought._ He does. He has to._

He took another deep, shuddering breath. "Holy Rome loves me…" he repeated out loud. "He does…" He rolled over.

Sitting on the small table beside his bed was an old photo. He saw himself smiling happily back out of the picture. He was laughing and saluting, with the wrong hand as Germany never failed to point out. Germany, of course, was standing behind him, scowling and looking away, embarrassed, like always.

Italy remembered taking the picture. Germany had been annoyed with Italy for wanting a picture of the two of them. But he'd agreed in the end, the way that he usually did. The way he always did…

Italy felt a stab of pain in his chest. He rolled the other way quickly. …_Why do I feel so sad? _He wondered unhappily. _I should be happy, shouldn't I? So why do I feel guilty when I think of _Germany _now?_

Italy shut his eyes. He loved Holy Rome. But…but he liked Germany too…

But Germany didn't like him back, that seemed pretty obvious. Germany would get mad at him and yell at him and was always so cold and angry toward him. He probably hated being friends with him. And Italy would always make it worse by complaining and being annoying and weak and pathetic and stupid… Better to wait for Holy Rome than have your heart broken, right?

...

Right...?

* * *

><p><em>You can just tell the next chapter is just a set up for disaster...<em>

_Prussia earlier told Germany to "Go shit in the ocean" in Yiddish. It's a dead language, like Latin is, but it's hillarious to listen to, and three-fourths are based off of German, so why not?_

_Jeez, now that I look through the chapters, England and Canada really get beat up a lot... _


	16. PASTA

Germany stood in his bathroom, staring blankly at himself in the large mirror, which still had spider webbed cracks from when he'd punched it the almost two days ago. He fixed his tie uncomfortably. He started smoothing his hair. He loosened his tie again. Was he overdressed? Underdressed? When the hell did he ever start caring about these kinds of things? What was Italy going to wear? Not that it mattered; he'd look cute in anything… Should Germany bring him flowers? Should he—?

"So West, are you planning on staying in there the whole time?" Prussia called.

Germany sighed. "Ja, ja, I'm coming," he replied. He grabbed the doorknob, shut his eyes tightly, and opened the door.

Canada and Prussia looked at him. "You look nice, Germany," Canada complimented.

"Danke Cana—"

"Hey West, you should seriously do something awesome with your hair!" Prussia interrupted. He ran into the bathroom, wet his hands, and ran back. He started trying to spike Germany's hair. "Eww, no." He started trying to smooth it forward, then backward, then completely sideways, then straight up again until Germany swatted his hands away.

"Prussia, get off," he snapped. "I'm leaving my hair the way it normally is." He started trying to fix his hair.

Prussia scowled. "Well that's pretty un-awesome of you, West. Come on, don't you wanna do something different?"

Germany sighed. "No. I want to stay the way I normally am. I want him to like _me, _so I should act as normal as possible. Not that I'm sure I could do that while trying to be…you know, romantic…" He paused. "W…What exactly should I say to him?" He asked looking over at Canada.

"Hey, how come you're asking Canada for advice?" Prussia complained, crossing his arms. "I'm responsible."

Canada smiled. "Well, I mean, I did grow up with France, so I guess I would know more about romantic stuff than the two of you—"

Prussia gave him a one armed hug. "You poor thing…" He mumbled sympathetically.

Canada blinked. "Huh?" He slowly pushed Prussia's arm off of him. "For God's sake, he wasn't _that_ bad…"

"Can we get back to my problems?" Germany asked, annoyed. The other two looked up. "So what should I say to him?"

Canada shrugged. "Well, you could try complimenting him. That kind of stuff works."

"B-But what should I _say_ to him?" Germany asked. "I mean I'm not exactly a very compliment-y kind of person…"

Canada shrugged. "Well, making stuff up on the spot I think is one of the important parts of being romantic. You know, compliments, or flirting, or heck, even stuff like…like serenading or…" He trailed off, noticing the terrified look Germany was giving him. "W-Well you don't have to really _do_ all that or anything, just, um, you can make stuff up—"

Germany shook his head frantically, starting to panic. "N-Nein, I can't do that! I can't make things up as I go! There has to be some sort of plan, some sort of regimented step-by-step process! I-I thought _you_ would have a plan! Scheiße I-I-I can't do this it was the stupidest idea ever I need to go call Italy and tell him that I can't go—!" He turned to go find his phone.

Canada grabbed his arm. "Stop! Calm down. You…you have to calm down." He patted his arm slightly. "Uh, here, I have an idea." He pulled out a phone and dialed. After a moment, he said, "Hey, it's Canada." He paused, then frowned. "What do you mean 'Canada who' you hoser…?"

…

Italy started heading out the door to go meet with Germany when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He flinched and spun around, holding up a white flag and shouting, "_Don't hurt me I surrender!_"

"Cut that out," Romano replied with a smack. "It's me, damn it."

Italy smiled. "Oh, ciao Romano!" He said brightly. "I was just about to leave!"

"Yeah yeah, I know that. I just wanted to talk to you real quick…" Italy looked up at him, curious. When he didn't say anything, Romano crossed his arms. "I just…well, I was thinking about how earlier I was…well, I mean…yesterday, when we were talking and all…I just…" He scowled, looking frustrated. "I…" He looked up at Spain, who was watching them from the doorway. Spain gave an encouraging smile and motioned for him to continue.

Romano grimaced and turned back toward Italy. "I…chigi…I think it's not good to be so obsessed with the Holy Roman Empire and…well…but even so, I'm…" He trailed off. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm…I'm sor…" He paused, grimaced, and tried again. "I-I'm sorr…oh God, it's like razorblades in my mouth…"

Italy hugged him. "It's okay Romano!" He said. "I forgive you!"

Romano sighed. "Yeah, yeah, whatever…" He sighed. "I still don't think you should get your hopes up…"

Italy smiled knowingly. "Sure Romano… Well, see you later! Me and Germany are gonna go eat dinner! Bye!"

"Okay, bye—wait, what about the potato—?"

Italy left. Romano blinked a few times. "Spain, where did he just say he's going?"

"Oh, he and Germany are going to dinner together! Like a date! Aren't they cute?"

"…Spain, get the ax."

…

Germany stood stiffly outside of the restaurant, his teeth clenched together. He clutched the flowers he was holding tightly, crushing the stems. He checked his watch. 7:00. They were supposed to meet almost half an hour ago. Where the hell was Italy? He swore angrily, causing the young couple passing into the restaurant to yelp and hurry inside.

"This was a terrible idea," he hissed softly, massaging his temples. "I can't believe you idiots talked me into this."

"Hell, I'm blaming Canada for this," Prussia replied loudly, causing the earpiece in Germany's ear to screech. Germany yelped and clawed at his ear. "Whoops. Sorry, West. Forgot."

Germany swore. "Verdammt, you practically blew out my eardrum," he growled angrily, glaring up at the bush that the others were hiding in.

Another voice started laughing. "Dude, from over here, you seriously look like you're talking to yourself!" America giggled. "You look freaking insane. Oh, oh, shout 'the cake is a lie' at that couple walking next to you!"

Germany sighed, scowling at the couple passing by. "Why is he here again?" He asked.

"Hey, hey, as long as you guys are borrowing my spy shit, I'm gonna need to watch you guys. At least that's what the CIA told me. Apparently if I lose any more of their stuff they're gonna kick my ass." America sighed. "Not my fault it was raining that day…"

Canada sighed, grabbing the walky-talky they were using out of his brother's hand. "Sorry Germany, it is his stuff we're using. But he's right; you do look kinda crazy talking to yourself. Just relax. I'll help you out from over here."

Germany sighed. "Um, okay, I guess…"

"Ve~ hi Germany!"

Germany spun around. "Italy!" He snapped angrily. "You're late! Where the hell have you been?"

Italy, who'd been skipping happily a second ago, froze. "O-Oh, I-I'm sorry Germany," he stammered weakly, looking slightly hurt.

"Germany," Canada hissed, "that is not working! You have to be nice to him, remember?"

Germany flinched. _Right, _he thought, _I need to get Italy to like me. _"Uh, sorry. I uh…" He started trying to remember the advice Canada had given him earlier. "I, uh, like your tie," he complimented uneasily.

Italy gave Germany a confused look. "I'm not wearing a tie," he replied, glancing down at his shirt.

Germany flinched. "I-I meant your, uh, your…your hair," he corrected. "Your hair looks…i-interesting…"

Italy looked up at his hair. "I don't…" He pulled on his bangs, as if there were something horribly wrong with them.

"Psh, you're really bad at this," America told him.

Germany sighed. "Well, whatever, let's go inside." He grabbed Italy's arm and pulled him inside.

Italy sat down nervously at the table, staring up at Germany. He was acting really weird. Was he feeling sick? He noticed Germany pause, as if he were listening to something. Then he held out the crushed flowers he'd forgotten he was holding. "Here"

"Oh, uh, grazie," Italy said, inspecting the destroyed flowers. He wasn't entirely sure if it was a threatening gesture. Did he do something to make Germany mad again? "Um, so how're you Germany?" He asked nervously.

"Fine," Germany answered curtly. There was a long awkward pause. Germany cleared his throat. "Um, so h-how're you?" He asked uncomfortably.

"I'm great!" Italy answered with a big smile. "I've been so great! I made a ton of chocolate and stuff for Holy Rome for when he gets back! I hope he gets back soon!" He kept smiling, oblivious to the grimace on Germany's face.

Germany glanced away. "Right. Um, well, I guess we're gonna order soon…"

"*cough* Um, ciao, may I…take your order?"

Germany glanced up. "Ja, great, I'd like—" He froze.

Romano cleared his throat and fixed his fake moustache and his stolen uniform. "So, yeah, takin' your order now, damn it…" he muttered darkly.

Germany blinked. "What the hell are you doing?"

"R-Romano? Who's Romano?" Romano stammered. "I'm, uh...Parmigiano..."

Germany blinked. "What? I never said—you didn't—that's the stupidest—"

"Nice to meet you, Parmigiano!" Italy said happily. Germany rolled his eyes and leaned on his hand. Italy picked up his menu. "Let's see, I want some fettuccini with alfredo sauce and some rotini with meat sauce and some lasagna and extra parmesan cheese and—"

"Italy, shut up," Germany muttered.

Italy shrank slightly. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I guess I'll just have some fettuccini…"

Germany sighed at the look on Italy's face. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"So did you want more _silverware, __**sir**_?" Romano hissed, holding a set of forks threateningly in front of Germany's face.

"Hey, isn't that Romano?" Prussia asked, leaning out of the bushes to get a better look. The two next to him looked closely too. Prussia grabbed the walky-talky. "Hey West, isn't that Romano?"

"J-Ja," Germany responded uncomfortably. "Err, no thank you, I have enough forks—"

"No, no, I'm sure you need _forks_," Romano growled darkly. "You need lots and lots of sharp forks so you can shove them up your—I mean, so you can eat your food. Yeah…eat your food, damn it…"

Germany groaned and pushed the forks away. "Nein, I have enough forks. I'd like some spaghetti though, bitte."

Romano scowled at him. "Ew, don't speak your obnoxious language to me, bastard—"

"_HEY!_"

Romano jumped and spun around. The manager of the restaurant was standing behind him, looking mad. "Hey you, what're you standing around for? I don't pay you idiots to loiter around! Go place their order!"

Romano blinked. "O-Oh, well I don't actually—"

"_Go!_"

"Y-Yes sir!" Romano stammered quickly, turning and running into the kitchen.

Germany sighed wearily. "Well, maybe that will keep him distracted…" He turned back toward Italy.

Canada nodded. "I hope so," he replied into the walky-talky. "Wonder why he's here. Probably mad at you for eating out with Italy. Anyway, you should compliment Italy. Try calling him 'cute' or something. Sure he'll appreciate that."

"Right," Germany murmured. "Hey, Italy, you look…um…you…look cute," he finished, then coughed nervously and looked away, hoping Italy wouldn't notice his blush.

Italy, of course, did not. "Ve~ thanks Germany! You're such a nice friend!" he responded.

Germany flinched. "Err, ja…friend…" He sighed and looked away unhappily.

Italy stared at him for a second. _Does this mean Germany doesn't want to be my friend anymore…? _He wondered, starting to get scared. "U-Uh, so Germany, um…" Italy tried to think of something to say. "S-So you, um…" He glanced down, trying to think of a conversation.

Romano walked back out of the kitchen, looking thoroughly frightened, carrying several bowls of pasta. "Y-Yeah so here's your food, go eat it and shit damn it." He shoved the bowls into Italy's arms.

Germany looked around. "Hey, where's my food?" He asked.

Romano smirked. "Sorry, did you order something?" He asked in reply.

("Ve~ you know, if you shaved that mustache, you'd look just like my brother…")

"Ja, I did," Germany growled back. "I wanted some spaghetti. Go get me some."

Romano glared at him. "You think you can tell me what to do after you brainwash and kidnap my brother, you sick perverted psychopath?"

Germany raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Italy thought for a second. "Is Germany going out with someone else then…?" He looked at Germany. "Germany, are you going out with Parmigiano's brother?"

"What? No! …Wait, yes. Wait, ITALY SHUT UP!"

Italy flinched. "I-I'm sorry."

"Scheiße, no, I-I didn't mean—"

"Stop yellin at my brother you ass!"

Germany scowled. "Shut up! It's none of your business. Now go get me my food!"

"Fine! You want your food?" Romano grabbed one of the bowls and smashed it into Germany's face. "THERE! THERE'S YOUR DAMN FOOD!"

Germany yelped. "W-What the hell!" He shouted, trying to wipe the sauce from his face.

The manager stormed over. "Hey! What the f—"

"YEAH, YOU KNOW WHAT? I QUIT!" Romano shouted at the man. He ripped of the uniform he'd stolen. "Here's your damn uniform back! And you know what else? Take the G*ddamn moustache!" He ripped the moustache off and threw it at the man.

The man blinked. "W-What the hell—?"

Spain burst through the door. "Look, Romano, I found the ax!"

Several people started screaming. "OH MY GOD THAT MAN HAS A WEAPON!" A woman screeched. "HERE, TAKE OUR MONEY! Y-YOU WANT MONEY, RIGHT? PLEASE DON'T HURT US!"

Spain blinked as several people started throwing their wallets at him. "What do you mean?" He asked, confused. "I don't want your money."

"OH MY GOD IT'S A TERRORIST!" A man screamed.

Spain blinked. "No, that's not what I—"

"_TERRORIST?_" America burst through the window and tackled Spain as Germany stared at them in horror. "Don't worry, good people! The hero is here to stop the terrorist!" He shouted loudly.

Spain started screaming, "¡Yo no comprende—!"

"Shut up, terrorist!" America shouted, wrestling the ax out of his hands. "Stop talking in your terrorist language!"

"¡Pero yo estoy hablando en español!"

Canada sprinted inside. "America, stop! That's Spain!"

America smirked at him. "Silly person I don't know, that's just what the terrorists _want _you to think."

Germany stared blankly as America started shouting things at Spain, as Canada started trying to pry him off, then Romano started shouting threatening sentences in Italian from behind the confused manager still holding the fake moustache. Then Prussia started shouting something. Germany flinched. "What?"

"Uh, incoming," Prussia said. "Code…pink, or something!"

Germany blinked. "What the hell is code pink supposed to—?"

"YOU BLOODY ARSEHOLE WHY THE HELL DID YOU DYE MY EYEBROWS PINK?" England shouted as he tackled America.

America screamed. "WAIT, IT WAS TONY'S IDEA!"

Germany banged his head on the table. "F***."

Italy whimpered and scooted his chair next to Germany, ducking down slightly. "T-They're being scary…" he mumbled, holding a white flag.

"Ja," Germany muttered. Canada ran by, trying to drag England and America away from each other. He looked up at Germany. Germany mouthed, "Do something!"

Canada nodded. "R-Right, I have an idea." He pulled out his cell phone again. "Bonjour, j'ai besoin d'aide!" He paused. "Quoi? Non!" Another pause. "Parce que je suis en public!" Another pause. Canada turned bright red. "NO WAY!" He shouted, reverting back to English. "No! Just get over here! I'll do anything! Please!" Another pause, then an eye roll. "That's the stupidest… Fine, but I'm not buying a skirt." He hung up then glowered at Germany. "You owe me _so_ much!"

Germany blinked. "W-What the hell?"

Suddenly, France burst into the room. Naked, of course. "Bonjour Angleterre!" He shouted. Then he froze when he noticed the eyebrows. He started laughing. "W-W-What ze 'ell 'appened to your 'ead?" He giggled.

England stiffened. "Damn it you bloody frog! Shut up! And why the hell are you naked!"

France grinned. "Come on, Angleterre, do you really need to ask zat?"

England glared at him. "Oh yes right, you're just an idiot."

France continued grinning. "Oui! Now…" he walked forward, grabbed England by the waist, and hoisted him into the air. "I'm doing Canada a favor! So let's go to my car~!"

England stiffened. Then he started violently pulling on his hair. "WHATTHEBLOODYHELL!" He screamed, kneeing France's shoulder. "GET! OFF! YOU! FROG!"

France laughed. Then he winked at Canada. "I'll see you later!" He walked out, carrying the screaming Englishman.

America stared at them, squinting. "Dude, what the hell just happened…" He stiffened, then felt his face. "Whoa, no wonder England's all blurry. Where the hell is Texas?" He bent down and started feeling the ground. "Man, the prez is sooo gonna kill me if I lost Texas again…" he mumbled.

Canada bent down and picked Texas up. "Come on, America, I think they're over here." He helped America up and started leading him toward the door. "Way over there…" he continued, shoving him out and tossing Texas after him.

America grinned. "Why thank you mysterious stranger—"

The door closed, cutting him off.

Romano and Spain slowly snuck out the back door. "Come on, moron. Let's get out of here before you get us arrested."

"Aw, I didn't get my ax back…"

Germany stood there stiffly for a moment, staing around the now destroyed restaurant. Then he collapsed back into his chair with a relieved sigh. "Thank God…" He started rubbing his temples. "Gott…this has been a complete disaster…" he murmured sadly.

"Ve~ not completely. We still have the pasta!"

Germany glanced over at the optimistic Italian. Then he sat up quickly. Italy was eating the last bowl of fettuccini, the one that Romano had hit Germany in the face with earlier. Germany stared at it for a second. Italy looked up at him. "O-Oh, I'm sorry Germany, I forgot you haven't gotten to eat anything! Here!" He held out the bowl.

Germany swallowed, feeling his face getting red."Err, I don't mind…sharing…" he mumbled.

(Outside: "You communist!" America shouted.)

Italy smiled. "Yay, that sounds fun!" He put the bowl in between them.

Prussia strode in, set down a boom box, and started playing music. He gave a thumbs-up. Then he turned and walked back outside.

Germany frowned. "Bruder, where the hell did you—never mind." He turned back toward Italy, who was happily eating the pasta. Germany gulped. He reached down and pick up one of the forks Romano had thrown at him from the table.

Italy held out the pasta bowl, smiling. Germany blushed and glanced away. He nervously took a bite. "T-Thanks," he murmured, taking another bite.

"Awww, aren't they so cute?" Prussia squealed as Canada sat down next to him. Canada looked at him. Prussia coughed. "Err, I mean, uh…never mind…" he muttered, glancing away.

Canada laughed slightly. "Yeah. They're cute," he said, patting Prussia's shoulder. Prussia coughed again.

Germany rolled his eyes at the two of them, jabbing another noodle. Italy started nibbling on a noodle too. Germany glanced at him, then froze. He glanced down at the noodle he was eating. He stiffened and looked away. _Oh Gott, oh crap, oh scheiße…_ he thought frantically, glancing over at Italy, who didn't seem to notice anything.

Germany shut his eyes. _Come on, Deutchland, it's now or never, _he told himself. He took a deep breath, then leaned closer, sucking down the noodle.

Their lips pressed together. Italy froze, his eyes opening in surprise. For a few seconds, both of them forgot to breathe.

Then Italy gave a muffled yelp and stumbled backward. He tripped over a chair, tumbled backwards, and crashed into a table. The table flipped over and landed on the floor next to him.

Germany jumped to his feet. "Italy! Are you alright?" He bent down and helped Italy to his feet.

Italy's face was red. "I-I'm sorry Germany I didn't mean to do that I'm sorry," he stammered. "I-I-I think I'm going to go home now sorry Germany ciao—"

Germany grabbed Italy's arm as he tried to run. "Italy, wait!" Italy paused. Germany paused. "…Italy…I have something I need to tell you," he said.

Italy looked up at him. Germany took a deep breath. "Italy…I…" He shut his eyes and took another deep breath. After another short pause, he managed to say, "Italy, I'm the Holy Roman Empire."

Italy froze. "…Huh?"

They stood there silently. Italy stared up at him, wide-eyed. Germany sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," he murmured. "I'd lost my memories and I didn't know until yesterday and hell I still don't remember any of it but I'm Holy Rome…"

Italy stared at him. "You…you don't remember…?" He mumbled. He looked down. "You…Germany is…" He trailed off, staring at the floor. Then he looked up blankly. "O-Oh. Okay," he murmured. "I…I'm gonna go home."

Germany frowned. "Huh?" He scrutinized Italy closely. That wasn't how he was supposed to respond. _Gott, is he disappointed…? _He wondered, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I-Italy, what's wrong?"He asked.

Italy shook his head slowly. "N-Nothing. Sorry Germany. I…I think I'll go home," he whispered. He turned and walked away.

Germany blinked. _What…? _He sat down slowly. _W…What…?_

…

Italy's front door opened and closed. Romano glanced up from the couch. "Veneziano, what the hell took so long?" He asked, pushing Spain's head off of his shoulder and standing up. Spain flopped the other way, still sleeping soundly. Romano ignored him and walked into the front room. Then he paused. "Veneziano, are you okay—?"

"You were right Romano," Italy murmured. "Holy Rome doesn't love me anymore." He turned and walked up the stairs.

* * *

><p><em>Well, this was a long chapter. Sorry, I wanted to finish this part. Majority of it was crack, I'll admit. I think I'm wrapping the story up soon. One more chapter or so. Thank you all for sticking with me for so long.<em>

_An extra thing: I can't respond to my reviews for some reason. So there was one I wanted to respond to. Emimix commented on what I said last time about Yiddish being a dead language. I meant that it's not an official language. Like English is spoken in America, and French is spoken in France. Yiddish and Latin aren't spoken as a national language. Sorry for any confusion with that. And another correction: I'm not saying that these are the only places that these languages are spoken. I know English is spoken in Enlgand as well. They're examples._

_And no, Rachel, still no sex. So leave me alone._

_Thank you all for the three hundred reviews. You guys are the best!_


	17. And So It Goes

Prussia dragged his younger brother into the house. He was being dead weight, not moving a muscle as Prussia dragged him through the house. "Verdammt…West…you need…to move…your ass…" he grunted as he dragged him off toward his room, Canada following behind him. "…Come…_on_…you arschloch…"

Germany didn't hear him. He couldn't breathe. It was like days earlier, when he'd learned Italy loved someone else. It hurt just as much. Maybe more, since now he knew Italy just would never love him back. Even when he was the person Italy had loved so much as a child, he still would never love him back...

Suddenly, Germany wrenched his arm away from his brother. Prussia paused as Germany strode into his room and slammed the door shut. "Wait, West, what're you doing?" He asked. Germany didn't answer. Prussia sighed. "Do you want to talk about it…?"

"No."

Prussia paused and sighed again. "Listen, maybe there was some sort of miscommunication," he insisted. "Maybe he thought you said something completely different. O-Or maybe he needed some time to let it sink in, and he'll come running back here tomorrow so the two of you could f—"

"Prussia, go away."

Prussia paused again. He glanced over at Canada. Canada frowned and leaned over to the door. "Prussia's right, Germany. He probably just got confused or something. You know how Italy is. Tomorrow the two of you could talk it out and—"

"I'm sorry, who're you again?"

Canada froze for a second. Then he turned away. "O-Oh. I-I…I really thought you'd remembered this time…" he mumbled, then walked away.

Prussia looked from Canada to the door. He scowled at his brother, who he knew was standing right inside of the door. "Hey, I know you're upset but you don't have to take it out on us…" He turned and walked after Canada.

Germany ignored him and went to curl up on his bed. He shut his eyes tightly, trying desperately to ignore the sharp pain in his chest. _Why?_ He wondered weakly._ Did I do something wrong? Am I just unlovable or something…?_

He laid there for a while. Then, finally, he rolled over, buried his face in his pillow, and willed himself unconscious, ignoring the tears on his face.

…

* * *

><p>…<p>

"West…West…come on, snap out of it…" Prussia mumbled, waving his hand in front of Germany's face. "West…" He frowned. He picked up his chair, walked next to his brother, sat it down, and grabbed the corners of Germany's mouth, forcing him into a smile.

Germany's head jerked back. "What? Huh?" He blinked groggily, looking up at his brother. He shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't know you were talking to me…" he mumbled.

"Ja, I noticed that," Prussia replied. He handed Germany some food. "Eat."

Germany sighed. "Right. Sure." He took a sleepy bite and went back to staring blankly into space.

Prussia scowled at him after they sat there for another minute. He waved his hand in front of his face. "West…"

Germany jumped again. "E-Err, sorry, what?"

Prussia reached out and flicked the side of his brother's head. "Come on, West," Prussia said, annoyed. "It's been two days. Either call him or stop thinking about it so much." He held out a phone.

Germany glanced away. "Call who? I have no idea of what you're talking about," he muttered.

Prussia rolled his eyes. "You know very well who I'm talking about." He held out the phone again. Germany didn't look up. Prussia scowled. "Now who's the one avoiding his problems?"

"I learn from the best," Germany replied.

They sat there for a little while longer. Prussia set the phone down in front of Germany. Germany pushed it back. "Prussia, leave me alone. I already apologized to Canada, and I really don't want to call…" He trailed off. "…I don't want to know why Italy doesn't love me…"

Prussia sighed. "Well, you'll need to talk to him at _some_ point," he muttered.

_Ding Dong_

Prussia glanced up. He grinned. "See West! That's probably Italy right now, here to declare his love for you and beg you to take him and—"

"Prussia, it's probably just France or something. Shut up and leave me alone."

Prussia frowned. "Fine, but when Italy comes in and starts kissing you—"

"_Just go!_" Germany growled.

Prussia rolled his eyes and strode into the next room. Germany sat there for a moment, trying not to listen in. _Best not to get my hopes up,_ he decided. _No way that it'd be Italy…_

There was shouting from the other room. A loud thud. More yelling. Germany glanced up, startled. "The hell…?" he murmured, confused.

Prussia walked in, his face white, a large bruise already forming on his eye. "U-Um, I was almost right," he stammered.

Romano walked in after him. He held up a gun toward Germany. "You. Get in the car."

Germany rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, Romano, just because you have a gun full of marbles—"

_BANG BANG_

Germany yelped and ducked as Romano fired into the air. Romano lowered the gun again. "Get in the car," he repeated darkly.

Germany stared at him for a second. Then he stood up. "Oh mein Gott is that real—?"

"Get in the car."

"B-But I—"

"Get in the car."

"This is completely insane—"

"Get in the car."

Germany quickly walked passed Romano and Prussia. "A-Alright, alright, I'm going to the car…" Germany murmured nervously, holding up his hands. He walked outside and climbed into the red sports car parked in his driveway.

Romano sat down next to him and grabbed the wheel. "Right. Let's go." He pulled out of Germany's driveway with a loud screech and sped off.

Germany nervously gripped the seat. To be honest, he was more frightened of Romano's driving skills than the gun that he'd… the gun that he'd just set down next to him…

Germany swiped the gun. "Ha! Take me back or—"

"The gun is full of blanks."

Germany blinked. He looked down at the gun. "What the hell?" He asked, opening the chamber of the gun. "Okay, you just kidnapped me with an unloaded gun because…?"

Romano's grip tightened around the wheel, as if he were imagining it was Germany's throat. "Because my fratello has been locked in his room for the past two days," he answered quietly. "He won't come out, or eat, or move, or anything." Romano glared at him. "What exactly did you do to him?"

Germany stared at him. He might be an ass, he might be rude, and he may've just kidnapped Germany with an unloaded gun, but he still cared about his brother. Germany thought about something for a moment. "Err, why did you need to kidnap me to ask?"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Bastard. I don't have any people skills..."

"Right," Germany muttered. He sighed. "He's alright though, right?" Germany asked after another second. "Italy is alright?"

"You never answered me. Answer my question, damn it."

Germany rolled his eyes. "Or what—?"

Romano swerved the car with another screech and sped through a red light, cutting three people off, then turned abruptly, causing the car to go up on two wheels and passing dangerously close to the curb before straightening out and continuing a hundred miles down the street.

Romano glanced over at Germany, who was clinging to the seat and digging his nails into the leather. "Sorry, you say something, potato bastard?" He asked.

"N-N-No," Germany whimpered slightly.

"Thought not," Romano said with a smirk. "So tell me what you did to my brother."

Germany shook his head. "I-I don't know what I did wrong. I wasn't supposed to upset him this much…" He paused.

Romano glared at him. "What the hell did you do to him?"

Germany sighed. "I…I told him that I used to be the Holy Roman Empire."

Romano froze. He turned toward Germany, looking furious. "You told him what?" He asked quietly.

"R-Romano, please look at the road—"

"You complete and total _DICK_!" Romano shouted furiously. "You _WHAT_?" He turned back toward the road and skidded around another street corner. Germany yelped and grabbed the seat again, desperately wishing that the car had seatbelts. "You wanna know what my fratello told me as soon as he got home?" Romano asked slowly.

Germany looked up at him. "Ja, what?"

"He told me that the Holy Roman Empire didn't love him anymore."

Germany froze. "W-What?" He asked slowly. He turned away, his mind racing.

Romano glared at him. "You know what?" He muttered. He slammed on the breaks and jolted roughly to a stop. Germany yelped and fell forward, almost falling out of the seat. Romano unlocked the car door. "Get out."

Germany blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Get the hell out of my car you pathetic bastard."

Germany sat up slightly. "What? Why?" He protested, feeling confused and angry.

Romano's glare got angrier. "I was going to make you apologize to my brother," he growled, "but you don't even deserve to do that. Get out of my car. _Now._"

Germany sat there for a moment, stunned. Then he shook his head. "No. I need to talk to your brother."

"Why the f*cking hell would I let you get anywhere near my brother?" Romano snapped, giving Germany another hateful glare. "You are an evil manipulative son of a bitch and I'm not letting you get near my brother ever again!"

Germany shook his head. "I need to see him! Please Romano!"

"Why? So you can break his heart a third time?" Romano hissed. "You do not give a shit about my brother. You just want to keep manipulating him. Get the hell out of my car or I load this gun and splatter your brains." He turned to grab his gun.

Germany took a deep breath. "Romano, I love your brother."

Romano blinked. He looked over at Germany. "…Che cazzo?" He turned toward Germany, astonished. Then his eyes narrowed. "The f*ck you talking about?" He muttered suspiciously.

Germany looked closely at him. "Romano, I am in love with your brother," he said. "I really am. I've been trying to figure out how to tell his for the past week, but I just...I love him so much Romano. Please..." He trailed off, realizing how stupid he must sound to Romano.

Romano stared at him for a second. Then looked away, confused. Then looked back at him. "You…" He turned away again. Then back. "W…Wha…?" He slumped forward slightly, thinking hard. They sat there silently.

Finally Romano looked up at the road, looking extremely annoyed. He slowly pressed down on the gas pedal. Germany stared at him, confused. Then Romano glanced at him. "You better make your apology good, damn it," he murmured darkly.

Germany stared at him. "Wha…r…really?" He stammered. Romano ignored him and kept driving. Germany blinked a few times. He leaned back in his chair. "R…Really?" He asked again. "You…You're being serious…?"

"Shut up before I change my mind, bastard," Romano muttered.

Germany turned to stare out the window. "W-Wow, danke Roma—"

"Shut up. I still hate your guts."

Germany sighed slightly. "Right."

"And if you try anything on him, I'll shoot you."

"Uh, sure—"

"Or if you touch him. Touch him and I hurt you. Or make him cry ever again. I'll shoot you for that too. Or if you do anything. Anything at all, and I shoot you."

Germany nodded. "Right."

"…and if you tell anyone about this conversation, I'll make you wish you were dead."

Germany rolled his eyes. "Right, fine," he replied.

They drove for another hour, Romano narrowly avoiding several collisions. When they reached Italy, it was mid afternoon. Romano parked and unlocked the door. "Now get out. My car is gonna smell like potatoes for weeks…" he complained.

Germany rolled his eyes again and walked up to the front door. He opened it slowly and looked around. It was eerily quiet. He took a deep breath and walked slowly toward the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, he heard someone talking. "…you sure you don't want any pasta, Italy?" Spain pleaded at the door. "¿Por favor? Necesitas comer. Italia, por favor…" Spain knocked softly on the door. "Italy, what about gelato? Te gusta gelato…"

"Spain."

Spain looked up. He looked worried. He gave him a weak smile. "Germany!" He strode over and grabbed his shoulder. "You should go talk to Italy. Please."

Germany nodded. "Right… Give me a minute." He turned, walked down the stairs, and into the kitchen. He grabbed some gelato, scooped it into a bowl, and walked back toward Italy's room. He slipped silently past Spain and Romano, who were speaking softly to each other in Spanish. Germany had no idea what they were saying, but they seemed to be comforting each other. Romano caught his eye for a second, then went back to ignoring him with a scowl.

When Germany slipped into the room, Italy was sleeping soundly on the bed. He still had wet streaks down the sides of his face and his hair and clothes were disheveled.

Germany crept over next to him and placed his hand on Italy's head. "Italy…" he whispered gently. He moved his hand to Italy's cheek, wiping away a tear. "Italy, wake up."

Italy mumbled sleepily and shifted away. Germany bent down and tousled Italy's hair. "Italy, wake up. I have some gelato for you." He placed the bowl on the table next to Italy's bed. He turned back toward Italy and sat down next to him. "Italy…"

Italy groaned slightly. For a second, Germany thought he was still asleep. Until Italy mumbled his name.

"…Germany…?"

Germany swallowed, already feeling his face getting warmer. "…Hello…Italy…" he replied softly. He had no idea how Italy could be so cute…

"G…Germany," Italy mumbled again, slowly sitting up. Germany reached forward and helped him up. Italy looked up at him, his bleary eyes half closed. "Germany, what're you doing here?" He asked sleepily.

"I'm here to talk to you," Germany replied, ruffling Italy's hair again. "I heard you weren't feeling well."

Italy's face turned bright red at Germany's touch. He looked away quickly. "O-Oh, well I-I feel fine, s-so it's okay. You can go now…i-if you want, I mean…" he mumbled, shifting nervously and staring at the floor.

Germany smiled slightly. "Well, I guess I could stay here," he murmured. "Oh, I brought you some gelato." He motioned toward the bowl.

Italy swallowed nervously, then glanced down. "Ve, I'm not really hungry—"

His stomach growled loudly. Germany and Italy both looked down at his stomach. Italy sat there silently. After a moment, he grabbed the bowl and started eating a few bites. "Grazie Germany," he mumbled.

Germany nodded. "You're welcome." He paused for a few minutes as Italy slowly finished up his gelato. After Italy set the bowl down, Germany murmured, "Listen, Italy, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"C-Can I go first?" Italy stammered quickly.

Germany glanced up at him. "Ja, sure," he replied, slightly confused. "What's wrong?"

Italy glanced up at him, then looked away. "W-Well I was…I'm sorry about leaving the other night. I…I just thought…" Italy looked shyly up at him. "We…we can still be friends, right?" Germany raised an eyebrow. Italy looked away again. "I-I mean…I just…n-never mind," he finished.

Germany furrowed his brows. "Italy, what do you mean?"

"W-W-Well I-I just thought…b-because Germany doesn't …d-doesn't like me how…how I like him…" He shut his eyes, turning away so Germany couldn't see the tears streaming down his face now. "…b-but I just…I just want us to stay friends…" He sniffled and started trying to wipe the tears away. "S-So we could still be friends, right Germa—?"

Germany cut him off with a hug. Italy froze and looked up at him, startled. "Italy, don't cry…" Germany mumbled, rubbing Italy's back. Italy leaned against his chest, wiping his face again. Germany swallowed nervously. "Listen, Italy…I have something I need to say too."

Italy glanced up at him. "Huh?" He murmured.

Germany stared at him for a moment. "Italy, I…" He trailed off, feeling his pulse speeding up rapidly. "Italy…I…"

"Germany, is something wrong?"

Germany took a deep breath. He held Italy closer, feeling Italy's pulse pounding like a rabbit's. Or was that his own heartbeat? "Italy…" he whispered softly, "…I've…I've always loved you."

Italy looked up, startled. "What?" He asked slowly.

Germany didn't move. He held his breath, waiting for some kind of response. Finally he felt Italy pulling away slightly. He let go. Italy stared up at him, his eyes wide. "W…What're you talking about, Germany?" He asked.

Germany swallowed. "I love you Italy," he replied. "I-I love you."

Italy sat there, looking confused. He looked at the floor. "I-I…No, that's not…" He looked back up at Germany. "…Why are you making fun of me…?" he murmured, tears starting to pour again.

Germany grimaced."N-Nein, Italy, I'm not…"

"Romano s-said you would," he sobbed weakly, turning away again. "T-That you d-don't really like me a-and you think I-I'm stupid and annoying and…and I'm weak and pathetic and…"

"Romano said all that?" Germany asked.

Italy shrugged. "J-Just the first part," he mumbled. "B-But it's obvious why Germany w-wouldn't like me. I'm annoying and lazy and I can't do anything and… W-Why would you like someone like me?" He started crying harder.

Germany shrugged. "Well, I can't imagine why _you_ would like someone like _me_," he murmured. He leaned forward and wrapped Italy in another hug. "But here we are."

Italy looked up at him, still looking confused.

Germany shut his eyes tightly. He leaned forward, then softly brushed his lips against Italy's.

Italy stiffened, his face practically glowing red. For a few seconds, he couldn't remember how to breathe. Finally, he murmured, "Germany…?"

Germany swallowed. "I…I do love you, Italy," he whispered, still holding him close. "I…" A strange thought passed through his mind, almost like a faint whisper. Softly, Germany murmured, "I've loved you since the 900s…"

Italy stared at him, his face turning redder, his eyes wide. Tears started forming in the corners of his eyes. He started smiling. Then he leaned closer and shyly pressed his lips against the side of Germany's mouth.

Germany turned and pressed his own lips against Italy's. He shut his eyes tightly and tangled his hand in Italy's soft hair, his other rubbing Italy's back. _I…I'm dead, _Germany told himself. _I'm dead, and this is heaven…_

Italy felt like he was melting. He leaned against Germany, feeling large hands running through his hair. After a while, Germany pulled back, staring at the small Italian looking back at him. Italy was smiling happily. "G-Germany…I-I love you too," he stammered. "Ti amo."

Germany smiled back and kissed Italy's forehead. Italy giggled slightly and snuggled against Germany. Germany sighed contently, shutting his eyes and pulling Italy close. Italy loved him back. Italy actually loved him back. Everything just felt…perfect. "Ich liebe dich, Italien," Germany murmured, rubbing Italy's shoulder. "Ich liebe dich…"

The two both fell asleep, lying in each other's arms.

* * *

><p>The End<p>

* * *

><p><em>Well, that's it. I finally finished a fan fic! Thank you all so much for the reviews, for sticking with me until the end, and just for being the best people ever! I love all of you guys! Thank you so much!<em>

_Jeez, I don't know what I'm gonna do all summer, now that this is finished. Huh._

_que cazzo ~ the f*ck?_

_Por favor ~ please_

_Necesitas comer ~ you need to eat_

_Te gusta gelato ~ you like gelato_

_One extra nthing, when a gun is loaded with blanks, it doesn't fire, but it makes the noise like it does. Germany thought the gun was loaded. Sorry if anyone was confused by that._

_You can read my crack Hetalia fic if you guys want, or one of my other fics *wink wink nudge nudge*. I'll probably start writing another one at some point, maybe Spamano or something. Well, see you!_


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